


Vena Amoris

by TheTwistedWillow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff, Castiel POV, Dean Winchester POV, Destiel Fluff, Explicit Language, First Kiss, Homophobia, Language, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Protection Ring, Rings, Slow Dancing, Soulmates, Wedding, accidental married, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-10-29 21:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10862271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistedWillow/pseuds/TheTwistedWillow
Summary: Dean takes a deep breath, shooting for an angry reproach but it comes out sounding pitifully desperate. “Dude, you can’t just… you can’t just put a ring on another dude. Especially not like- like that. And why this specific finger, man?”“It was believed, long ago, that a vein connected the fourth finger to one’s heart. Anatomically speaking it doesn’t, but it’s still relevant to the lore because most spells are referring to the metaphorical heart. Why?” Cas asks, narrowing his eyes as if he is unsure which line he has overstepped this time.+Set after season 11 finale. Amara and Chuck are gone, no BMoL, no Mary.+Inspired by the prompt circulating about Cas propositioning Dean to be his protector with a sigil-marked protective ring. I'm not really going in the direction of the prompt but I was inspired by it so it was worth a mention. And also a prompt I saw about Dean teaching Cas pool.Characters belong to the CW/Warner Bros/Supernatural.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Vena Amoris is Latin for Vein of Love. Long ago it was believed that a vein connected one's heart to their fourth finger, hence one reason people put their wedding band there. I ran my own handmade jewelry business for years and was also inspired by the fact that Misha and his wife made each other rings.

* * *

________________________________  
  
  
Dean can hear them before he even reaches the library, their voices echoing in the open space. “Sam, may I borrow this?” Cas is asking solemnly.   
  
“You think they’ll work?” Sam returns. Cas must have nodded because Dean doesn't hear his answer. “Then yeah, man. We’ll need to be ready by the next full moon which is in…”  
  
“Five days,” Cas says. He is wandering out of the room in deep thought just as Dean clambers in with heavy boot-clad footfalls from the opposite side of the room.  
  
“Mornin’. What’s up with him?” Dean asks as he approaches his brother in the bunker library, sitting down across from him while watching Cas’ receding back, his head tilted down like he's looking at something in his hands.   
  
“We’ve got a case. While you’ve been snoring we’ve locked down on something pretty significant.” Sam runs his fingers through his hair, leaning back in his seat to stretch.  
  
“Hey! I got to get my beauty sleep wherever I can,” Dean says in mock defense. “So what’s ‘significant’ mean? Like, the president-is-a-shapeshifter-big or..?”  
  
“No, nothing like that. It’s a witch.” Sam holds up a hand to stop him when Dean rolls his eyes and starts up his witch-hating protests. “Wait, hear me out. This is a really strong witch, Dean. Like maybe as strong as Rowena but darker, if you can imagine. Without getting into graphic detail, her main victims are fatherless children.”  
  
At the mention of children Dean narrows his eyes. He has a soft spot for the innocent and now he wants nothing more than to gank this bitch before she can touch another kid. “What’s the plan?”  
  
“Well,” Sam says, clearing his throat. “She sacrifices a victim every full moon, for at least a couple centuries now. We believe it is what keeps her powered up and alive for all this time using their soul to sort of boost her youth." Dean shudders at his brother's words.   
  
“ **Every**  full moon?” Dean doesn’t want to think about how many lives lost that that translates into, about a death per month for years. So Sam is right, this is significant. They have become more selective with their involvement in recent years, trying to weed out the supernatural beings that were committing crimes against humanity from those trying to coexist harmoniously with the rest of the world. It isn't a perfect justice system but if they can keep some kids safe so they can grow up and have a chance at normal lives then Dean will do it, even if he'd rather be in a vampire lair, solo, with his hands tied behind his back.    
  
Sam nods gravely. “Cas says the next full moon is in five days. I’m not sure my leg is going to healed by then," Sam nods his thigh emphatically to indicate the wrapped knee, "so you and Cas are going to have to go. He’s working on some protection sigils as we speak.”  
  
Sam fills Dean in on the more explicit details over cups of steaming coffee and scribbled notes. Books lay scattered over the tables, opened up to pages worthy of attention.    
  
“Let’s get this bitch,” Dean growls.  
  
  
________________________________  
  
  
“I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming out,” Dean says to Cas three days later when he appears in the library. Sam hikes an eyebrow up toward his hairline. Of course they've seen Cas, very briefly for meals, before he'd disappear into his room again. His fingertips, he noticed, were blackened and his hands dry but Dean doesn't ask about it. Guy probably fought an old Men of Letters inkwell and lost.

The brothers are lounging at a table side-by-side so Cas stands before them on the opposite side Most of the lore books are reshelved, save for the ones that are pertinent to the case. Those books lay scattered among forgotten cups of tepid coffee and empty beer bottles.  
  
“Sam, Dean, good morning. I wanted to return your note on the sigils.” Cas slides a small yellowed page across the table toward Sam.  
  
“So what do you think, Cas? Paint the sigils around her lair?” Sam hands Dean the paper without glancing at it and Dean can't decipher what he is looking at, at all, so he sets it on Sam's pile of crap at the corner of the table.  
  
"Or maybe we paint them on you in blood," Sam says, laughing heartily when Dean puckers up his face in disgust. Dean can handle in-the-moment blood and gore from a fresh kill but to sit here while someone takes a little paintbrush and deliberately puts blood on him like he's a damn canvas? No thanks.  
  
“She’s probably got her own spell-work that will hinder us from getting too close,” Dean muses, changing the subject. “She’s powerful enough to be well hidden. We need to scope it out, go from there. Bring as much as we can that could help.” He slouches a little in his chair, his body turned toward Sam as they talk. He's about done with his beer, holding the bottle against his stomach which leaves a cold, wet ring on his shirt.  
  
Cas comes around the table to stand at Dean’s left shoulder. “Give me your hand,” he instructs firmly.  
  
Unaffected by the strange request, Dean obediently lifts his left palm up toward Cas. He doesn't bother to look at him, assuming that Cas just wants to hand him a piece of gum or something. He keeps his eyes trained on Sam as they talk the case, laser-focused on nailing down the fine details.

“I’ll be here, so if you guys need anything just…” Sam’s voice trails off, his eyes suddenly locked onto the space to Dean’s left.  
  
Slender fingers flip Dean’s hand over, warm fingers fan against Dean’s palm, a thumb purposefully pressed into the back of Dean’s hand to keep it still. Before Dean can process what is happening, Cas slips a  _so-not-gum-but-something-else_  over his fourth knuckle. The cool metal warms as it settles into place, sending icy heat up Dean’s arm and into his chest. Dean mirrors Sam’s shocked expression as he slowly twists in his seat, gaping at Cas past the whiskey-colored band gleaming on his ring finger.   
  
“What the h-...? Cas?” Dean asks, slowly.   
  
 _\--Why is he still holding my hand? Did he just put a ring on my damn finger?--  
  
_ The drumming of Dean's heart picks up at an erratic pace, filling his ears with loud static. He jerks his hand back and almost misses the sad flash in Cas' eyes. It is there but gone quickly, a subtle flicker like a muscle spasm. Dean watches Cas lower his now-empty hand to his side, stretching and shaking the tension out of it, as though he had been jolted with electricity just by touching Dean.  
  
Sam takes a nervous pull of of his own beer, eyes manically darting between Cas, the ring, Dean, and then back through the process several times.  
  
“It’s a ring, Dean,” Cas says stone-serious, as though Dean should already know this. Sam snorts the mouthful beer out of his nose at the sight of his brother’s reddening face and Cas’ obliviousness.  
  
“Are you alright, Sam?” Cas asks as Sam sputters between choking and laughter. He takes the few steps toward Sam, fussing over him with brotherly affection and helping him clean up the beer with the box of tissues he grabs from a shelf behind them. It gives Dean a chance to scrutinize the band that slid onto his finger oh-too-perfectly and fit like a glove.  
  
It is made of rich coppers and oxidized brass, the base against his skin sanded to a buttery soft texture. There are engraved markings hidden below a layer of honey-gold resin, barely seen below the surface unless closely inspected. They trail the circumference, the end and the beginning indistinguishable: a full circle. The finish is organic, with gently hammered edges. It is wide and masculine, with a delicious weight. And it is the most beautiful ring Dean has ever seen.  
  
Dean holds his hand up to Cas’ face to clarify the meaning behind the unexpected gift. “Protection sigils?”  
  
Cas nods. Dean takes a deep breath, shooting for an angry reproach but it comes out sounding pitifully desperate. “Dude, you can’t just… you can’t just put a ring on another dude. Especially not like- like that. And why this specific finger, man?”  
  
“It was believed, long ago, that a vein connected the fourth finger to one’s heart. Anatomically speaking it doesn’t, but it’s still relevant to the lore because most spells are referring to the metaphorical heart. Why?” Cas asks, narrowing his eyes as if he is unsure which line he has overstepped this time.  
  
\-- _Because it is romantic? Something that people do when they're in love? Because it freaked me the fuck out? Because for a minute I thought…--_  
  
Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat, tucking the offending hand firmly against his thigh, while his other white-knuckles his sweating beer bottle. He is horrified to realize that at the crux of it he truly feels disappointed. Disappointment that the ring is for the case and isn’t more personal. He is disappointed that the person staring back at him with those bright blues isn't professing something more between them. Eyes that seem to be saying something desperate, while Cas' dry, stoic voice offers nothing but robotic facts.   
  
When Dean doesn’t answer, Cas arches a brow. “It’ll protect you from any spells she tries to use on you, Dean.”  
  
Sam finally speaks up, his merriment at Dean’s expense dying down when he notices his brother’s crestfallen face. “So can I see it?” Dean gives his brother a ‘ _I am so not amused’_ look but reluctantly unearths his hand from below the table for Sam’s inspection. “Holy shit, Cas. Where’d you get this?”  
  
Sam grabs Dean’s fingers, pulling the ring close to his eyes, running his thumb across the rustic surface, turning it around to see each sigil. It looks a little too much like the framing of a movie scene where the betrothed shows off the ring, and Dean grows even more uncomfortable with the direction his thoughts take him.  
  
“I made it,” Cas says, finally walking away from Dean to take a seat across from him at the table. Both brothers about knock their heads together to look at the ring closer at the admission. Well that would explain his dirty, dry hands. Blacksmith work would do that to ya.  
  
“You made this? With what? How?” Sam breathes, clearly impressed with the craftsmanship.  
  
Cas shrugs, like making rings from scratch is something he does in his everyday existence. “Well,” he starts thoughtfully, gazing up toward the ceiling. “I had to use a precise mixture of specific metals and my own blood.” There were some other big words like smelting, refining, forging and engraving.  
  
“Okay, okay, we get the picture,” Dean holds up the offending hand like a stop sign, the metal winking at Dean like a tease. Dean tries to not think of Cas curled over a work table, carefully carving each sigil into the metal with delicate strokes. Tries to not think of the sweaty curl of Cas’ hair against his forehead, tongue caught between his lips in concentration. Or of the hours it must have taken Cas to get it all just right. But what really starts the rolling nuisance of nerves in Dean’s belly is in realizing that a part of Castiel is wrapped around his finger.  
  
“Blood, huh?” Dean asks, trying to bury his sap feelings. His mind tells him that blood was necessary to activate the sigils' power, but his heart tells him that Cas' blood was sacrificed in love to keep him safe. Dean is a simple man. Hand-forged, meaningful gifts pluck at his heart like a harp. Even if it is just for a case, he can’t help but feel that it is too special, with too many fine print details, to not mean more. Dean desperately wants it to mean more.  
  
“Yes.” Cas sighs contentedly and looks at the ring on Dean's hand with affection and something akin to pride. His work on it now done, giving him the satisfied hum that allows him to finally kick back and take a deep breath. “I feel much better about this case now. I was concerned at first but that ring should keep you safe.”  
  
And that is the punch to his gut. This seemingly vague statement defines their push-and-pull with those final three words because that is all it ever seems to boil down to: keeping one another safe. The words puncture the tight ball of nerves, bursting into a kaleidoscope of butterflies in Dean's stomach. It is as close to a declaration of love that he is going to get from Cas. And he will take what he can get, whatever Cas is willing to offer.   
  
  
_______________________________  
  
  
  
It is a week after The Wicked Witch of the West, as Dean had dubbed her, had been killed. Dean still hasn’t removed the ring. If Sam notices he doesn’t say anything. But from time-to-time Dean catches Cas’ eyes dropping down to the ring before returning to Dean's eyes. The question hangs there in the tilt of Cas’ head, unasked, but there nonetheless. Dean lets it hang there, having made up his mind to hold onto what he can because too much slips away from him. And it has this pull on him, but far be it from him to admit it out loud.  
  
Beneath his bravado Dean is hopelessly sentimental. Cas' trench-coat traveling between the trunks of stolen cars, Bobby's flask, the crackled photos of his childhood, old cassette tapes he hasn't replaced with CDs, and Baby in all of her restored (again and again) glory. Dean is a living and breathing time-capsule of long lost loves. He has tried to hold on to Cas for years, losing him one-time-too-many. Cas always comes back to him but he is terrified that there may come a day when he doesn't. He's determined to hold onto something while that someone is still here beside him and not in a grave. And he has made up his mind that that something for him is the ring.   
  
Bacon and coffee notes linger in the kitchen air when Sam announces that they’ve got an email from Krissy Chambers. Dean shoves his hands into his jean pockets and leans over Sam’s shoulder to read. Cas asks what it says from his seat across from them at the kitchen table.  
  
“It’s a wedding invitation,” Dean says in surprise.  
  
Sam reads, " _Hey guys, sorry for the late notice. I got your email address from Jody Mills. If you can make it out to the wedding we would love to have you._  Then it lists the date, two weeks from tomorrow."  
  
“Little Krissy getting hitched, wow.” Dean mulls that over as he straightens and settles back on his heels. He is wondering how a girl, immersed in the hunter life, can want a marriage with all the risks involved. Love can be a weakness, used against you by the villains. And yet, an echo of Sam’s voice reverberates in his mind, asking Dean if he ever thinks of a life with someone, maybe another hunter.   
  
 _\--All the damn time.--_  
  
Dean shoots a glance at Cas, grateful that he can't read his mind. Grateful that he can have mutual companionship with his friend, no strings attached. Or so he keeps trying to tell himself, considering more than one Big Bad has pitted them against one another despite being  _just friends_. Dean leans back against the counter, folds his arms and frowns at the floor as though the kitchen tiles can magically piece together the confusing puzzle that is his love life, or lack thereof.  
  
“Well, what do you think? It could be fun. We should check in on her anyway,” Sam says, crashing through Dean’s thoughts, looking up at him from his seat. Even sitting Sam is taller than most, level with Dean's chest. Tall or not, Dean can only see his baby brother, the gangling kid that looked up to him.   
  
Dean nods and catches Cas’ eye. “You comin', too, right?”  
  
“I don’t even know her,” Cas states quickly from his seat across from Sam. Dean fondly considers Cas’ aversion in talking to people. People other than the Winchesters anyway. Right now Cas is frowning skeptically at his plate of half-eaten eggs.  
  
“So? It says we can bring a plus-one,” Dean says defensively, arms still crossed tightly against his chest. He ignores the quirked brow Sam shoots him over his shoulder.  
  
“I don’t know what you mean, Dean. What is plus-one?” Cas tilts his face toward Dean, eyes earnest and imploring. He's always eager to learn the lingo and as of yet, this term has never been brought up before. Not even in some of the chick flick movies Dean has convinced Cas to watch with him. It was probably lurking somewhere in Cas' database of a brain but sometimes too much knowledge crammed into a human skull can cause a 504 timeout error.  
  
“Date, Cas. You can bring a date to a wedding,” Sam offers with a shit-eating smirk, much to Dean’s embarrassment. It wasn't exactly how he was going to word it and he didn't want to give Cas the wrong impression, though secretly it would be nice to throw away all pretenses and just go for the things he wants. He'd be lying if he hadn't ever thought about taking Cas out, having something more, but it's a pipe dream. Things are good, Cas is here, there's no sense in fudging it up with feelings.  
  
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Dean says quickly, too loudly. He tries again in a normal tone. “It means you can bring an extra guest to the wedding, even if the bride and groom don’t know them.” Dean gives Sam a pointed look. “And it says  **we**  can bring a plus-one, so we’re both bringing you. As our friend,” Dean says in finality. There, it’s safer to just lump the three of them together as a brotherly unit.  
  
Dean doesn’t want to admit it but he actually likes weddings. He plays off his interest as though this trip is nothing more than a mission to check in on the young huntress. Out of habit he rubs his thumb over the protection ring, slowly spinning it on his finger before announcing he'll be in the garage if anybody needs him.  
  
  
_______________________________  
  
  
  
Cas had been nervous about Dean’s reaction to the ring. He has existed for billions of years and is not naive to what rings symbolize. But keeping Dean safe is always top priority so  _\--To hell with how I feel personally, --_  he had told himself. He needed to buck up and give it to him with an air of neutrality and indifference. It shouldn’t have been too hard.  
  
Except Dean hasn’t taken it off in nine days when he was able to remove it a week ago. Cas has seen the range of emotions flit across Dean’s face in quick succession when that ring first slid onto his finger. Shock, disbelief, awe. Dare Cas think that he saw hope? And of course there was the embarrassment and quiet acceptance for the role it would serve for the hunt.  
  
Cas had realized soon after that his error was in the delivery. He probably should have slid it across the table much as he had returned the paper to Sam, as though the ring meant nothing. Except it did mean something to Cas. He had painstakingly designed it with Dean in mind, using metals that call to aged whiskey and golden honey. In fact he hadn't needed to make a ring at all. Cas chose to do a ring, had formed it with his own blood, and he purposed to make sure it ended up on the finger associated with the fabled Vena Amoris. This is as close as he is going to be able to get to Dean’s heart because he refuses to push Dean into anything more.   
  
Before God and The Darkness had left, Dean had confided that Cas was just like a brother to them. Once again he is defined by a trio, instead of as a duo. Friend-zoned, as humans say. So anything beyond friendship that Cas thinks he saw in those amber-green eyes is reading too far between the lines, even as Dean's longing and feelings seem to say something else entirely. It has been years and Dean has not acted on those feelings, perplexing Cas further but also solidifying in his mind that he is just getting mixed signals, confusing human emotions yet again.   
  
No, it’s true. He feels he is conjuring up ideas where there is nothing because Dean had just said he was  _their_  plus-one. Not his, but theirs. Brothers. A team. Which is great in it’s own way, because Cas will never deny loving Sam as his brother.

Cas sighs deeply from the weight of his thoughts, startling Sam. They are both still sitting in the kitchen, Dean having just wandered off to the garage.  
  
“You okay, man?” Sam asks, looking up from his laptop.  
  
“Do you think- Have you noticed he still hasn’t taken it off?”  
  
“What? The ring?” Sam frowns, thinking. “I guess I hadn’t noticed because Dean usually wears a ring. Why do you ask?”   
  
Cas smiles softly. Sam is a very intelligent person with a keen eye, but when it comes to his big brother those perceptions blur. Sam knows Dean so well in many ways and on an instinctual level when it comes to a fight, but he doesn’t know him in other ways. The ways that Dean keeps buried deep inside, things Cas has seen and may not always understand but at least knows is there.   
  
“I just thought he’d remove it by now,” Cas says lamely. Mostly Cas is confused. Dean had been caught off-guard, embarrassed. He doesn’t understand why Dean would keep wearing it if he was so bothered originally.  
  
Sam grins. “He probably just likes it, Cas. Though, don’t bother asking him if he does because he’ll just deny it. If you want it back, just ask him,” Sam shrugs like it’s no big deal before he gets up to rinse out his mug. Sam retrieves his laptop to seek out solitude in another space in the bunker.  
  
Later that night they share a movie, Dean sitting closer than usual, his arm flung over the back of the couch. They aren't touching but Dean keeps leaning over and touching Cas' shoulder or bicep every time he laughs. Cas wonders if the ring had been a mistake after all. He probably should have just made a pendant or token. Because seeing it glint off of Dean’s hand was doing strange, torturous things to him, conjuring up daydreams of a different kind of life with the hunter.   
  
He should just ask for it back. Maybe Dean didn’t want to offend him by returning it.  
  
 _\--Yes, that is what I’ll do.--_

  
________________________  
  
  
Almost two weeks pass and Cas still hasn’t found the right moment to ask for the ring back. The three are packing for the road, readying for Krissy’s wedding. They decide to make a weekend of it and leave a day early, even though the drive is only a few hours. He can hear Dean whistling just one room away from his own, packing his duffel after having helped Cas pack his bag. Cas has had his own clothes for awhile, slowly building up his wardrobe, but sometimes Dean shares his since they're closer in size than Cas is to Sam. And apparently Cas makes a lot of faux pas because Dean gets great pleasure in laughing at him and showing him other things he should wear.  
  
As Cas listens to the whistling of what he assumes is a Metallica song, he prepares himself to march right over and ask for the ring back but deflates at the last minute, frozen in the doorway with his bag hanging limply in his hand.  
  
Dean must have sensed his presence because he turns and about knocks Cas out with one hell of a grin. He’s in a really, really, really good mood. Cas doesn’t want to risk ruining it because it is rare that he sees Dean relaxed anymore, especially after everything that happened with the Mark of Cain and then the Darkness. So he says nothing. Maybe he can try again after the weekend.  
  
“Let’s hit the road!” Dean hoists his bag onto his shoulder and calls out, “Sammy,” as they pass through the hall. “The train is leaving the station. Get a move on!”  
  
It takes them three hours to reach the motel in Conway Springs, Kansas. Cas checks himself into a room, the brothers share another immediately next door, per usual. The wedding isn’t until the next evening so they decide they can shoot pool, have burgers, and chill at Ringo's Tavern around dinnertime.   
  
Cas meets Dean at the Impala at the appointed time, outside their motel doors. “Where’s Sam?” Cas asks, noticing his absence.   
  
“Flaked out on us. Guess that means you get shotgun.” Dean tells him over the hood of the car before he drops into his seat behind the wheel.

They settle into bar stools moments later, the bar not far from the only motel in the small town. Cas glances back at the pool tables. There are three but only one is being used. He's never played before but he's heard from Sam that Dean is really good. Cas turns back to the bartender to order a beer. He is feeling tense because Dean is still wearing that damn ring and he's acting peculiar. Almost too relaxed, too happy. Something seems off. But Cas reasons that things are actually going pretty well for Dean considering the past few years so he should just accept this as a good thing.  
  
Dean is saying something to him but Cas is distracted by the arm Dean has just casually rested across his upper back. Dean's hand lingers against a shoulder blade before circles are gently rubbed into Cas' flesh and he can feel the ring even through the three layers of his clothing. When Dean finally takes his hand back the room comes into focus.  
  
He is too embarrassed to ask Dean to repeat what he just said, so he glances back at the pool tables again, unsure of where else to look, his eyes squinting through the stifling smoke. Most places were smoke-free but apparently Ringo and his patrons didn't care. Dean notices Cas' line of sight because now he’s asking, “You ever play?”  
  
Cas shakes his head  _no_. “Have you ever lost?” he counters.  
  
“Pssh, yeah.” Dean knocks his shoulder into Cas’ and adds, with a wiggle of his brows, “Before I hit puberty.” After a few more similar exchanges Cas realizes Dean is attempting to flirt with him and he doesn't understand why. But he does know that he likes the attention. Dean isn't even drunk yet and he's loose and playful. Cas takes the bait and tests out how far he can reach into Dean's personal bubble before Dean asks him to back up. He shifts to the edge of his stool, pressing his shoulder into Dean's as they talk and drink. Dean returns the pressure, leaning right back against him.   
  
Cas draws out his lone beer while Dean knocks back two shots. Dean finally cajoles him into going shot-to-shot until they’re both buzzing noisily but can still walk straight. Cas tries to explain an Enochian joke that goes right over Dean's head. Cas finds himself laughing, something he admits he doesn't do often, and tells Dean he should read his Bible or an Enochian dictionary some time. The bar starts to fill in more and Cas glances at the pool tables for a third time when a cheer goes up behind them.  
  
“Come on, I’ll show you how to play,” Dean says eagerly, grabbing Cas under his forearm, his face flush with the effects of the alcohol. He doesn't let go until they reach the table furthest away, the one in the dimly lit corner. Smoke slowly furls around the yellowed wall sconces.   
  
Cas is beginning to feel more reckless, fueled by liquor to let go of some inhibitions. He leans against a grimy wall and unashamedly watches Dean as he racks the balls and explains the game. It seems simple enough but his drunkenness keeps him from holding onto all of the words in order to make sense of them. He'll just have to learn as he goes. So far he knows that the stick hits the white ball and they're trying to get the balls into the six holes located around the table.  
  
Dean leans down and winks as he breaks the set, sinking the ball marked '3'. “Ha, I'm solids. You can have stripes, because you," Dean points a finger at Cas' chest, "have a striped tie." Somehow that stupid statement is really funny.  
  
Cas shakes his head but smiles. “I have no idea what that means. I can have what stripes?”   
  
"Someone was clearly not listening to instructions! It means you need to sink balls 9 through 15, the ones with stripes." Cas steps closer and realizes half of the balls are solid in color and the other half are colored only down their centers. 

"In numer- numerical order?" Cas asks, the words coming out thick and fuzzy. He takes the long stick from Dean and holds it straight up like he's wielding an angel blade. It's lighter than his blade and definitely longer but he can see it trembling from the effort to hold it as the room tilts and spins a little.

"This is a game of strategy, Cas. Order doesn't matter, only victory." Cas wrinkles his nose when Dean lifts his fist and shakes it. Dean tends to say and do a lot of what he calls  _cheesy things_  when he's drunk. "Yeah, I don't know why I said that. Just... show me what you've got."

Cas completely misses while Dean roars with laughter, bent over at the waist and patting one of his thighs. Cas feigns a pout and passes the cue stick over. "Not fair, the balls are vibrating. I can't hit them if they don't stop moving."   
  
“Okay, I get to move the cue ball because you scratched." Dean grabs the dinged up white ball and tosses it up into the air a few times as he strategizes where to place it and map out his next move.  
  
“What? You didn’t tell me that rule," Cas says as he removes his coat, feeling overheated. He tosses it onto a nearby chair, his suit jacket close behind, leaving him in only his shoes, slacks and a white dress shirt. The tie is feeling restrictive so he loosens it, letting it hang limply as it had so often done before he had first become human.  
  
He turns back to find Dean, lips parted, poised over the table to make his shot. But he isn't looking at the billiard balls. He's watching Cas. Dean blinks several times and returns his focus to the game. “Watch and learn, Cas,” he mumbles. The cue rests in the meat of his thumb, his forefinger curled over to help steady the stick as Dean slowly glides it over his flesh, back-and-forth, before he strikes the blue tinged tip against the cue ball with an ease that comes with years of practice.   
  
Cas rolls up his sleeves tightly to his biceps as he appreciatively notes how lithely Dean stalks around the table, the form he takes when he's about to take a shot. If he imitates these movements maybe he will improve. Dean sinks two more balls before it is Cas’ turn again.   
  
Cas tries to line up and lean down as Dean had done but it feels all wrong. Apparently Dean agrees because he comes up behind Cas and puts the heels of his hands against the lowest part of his back, pressing firmly so Cas automatically straightens, only relieving the pressure when Cas reaches the height Dean finds acceptable.   
  
Then Dean slips a foot between Cas' feet, gently coaxing them further apart with the tap-tap-tap of his boot. Cas obeys, shuffling his feet so he has a wider stance, one foot set more forward than the other. He swallows hard when Dean moves his hands to his hips to guide his torso into a more optimal position.  
  
“You need to bend at the waist with soft knees and hold the cue stick like this,” Dean murmurs close to Cas’ ear. He shifts his body over to Cas' left side to lean down with him, his right arm reaching across Cas' back to cup his elbow in order to guide the stick to their waiting left hands. Dean holds his left palm to the back of Cas' left hand, the ring like fire against his skin.   
  
They both curl their forefingers around the cue stick to create a space for the stick to smoothly move through, Dean’s arm resting heavily against Cas, his chest against Cas' left shoulder blade. Dean guides Cas' right elbow backward and forward, the cue stick gliding between their fingers.   
  
"Got it?" Dean's breath is hot against his temple and he thinks he felt the brush of his lips as he spoke but Cas' brain is short-circuiting and fuzzy so it was probably his imagination.  
  
\-- _I have anything but 'got it'.--_ Cas thinks to himself. He shakes his head and Dean chuckles deeply in response.  
  
Dean helps him sink a few balls despite how flustered Cas feels, shifting their bodies together to line up each shot. Cas knows they’re drunk and it is probably wrong to flirt with his friend. But he has seen a number of young ladies wander in, hovering just beyond the pool area, watching and waiting. Cas didn’t miss the last girl taking inventory of Dean’s ring before moving on to peruse the other goods. But the part that spurs Cas on is that Dean does not notice any of those women and keeps all of his attention on Cas.  
  
He may regret it tomorrow but...   
  
"I think you need to show me that again, Dean." And so Dean leans against him, fitting to Cas’ body, his lips ghosting over the hair above Cas' ear as he mutters something about black eight balls and calling pockets. And Cas soaks it all up for as long as it'll last.  
  
“Look at that, you friggin’ beat me!” Dean wraps an arm around Cas’ waist and pulls him back toward the bar.  
  
“No, you let me win,” Cas says pointedly, though his eyes crinkle from his grin. Dean isn't one to just let others win a game. He knows Dean should have dominated and Cas should be offended that Dean let him win instead, but it was in good fun. They were more focused on other things beside the game.  
  
Dean shrugs. “No, no, I'm a sore loser so we'll have to have a rematch.” Dean is acting anything but a sore loser and the idea of a rematch makes Cas' body react in ways that he isn't entirely used to.  
  
A waitress passing by pipes up, “You need to buy your boyfriend a drink!”  
  
Instead of correcting her Dean waggles his brows at Cas. “Let’s get out of here.”  
  
“Dean, neither of us can drive.”  
  
“Who said anythin' about drivin'? Let’s just go. Walk.”  
  
They get outside before Cas remembers he left his jackets. He leaves Dean leaning against the Impala while he retrieves them, stopping short just inside the neon-lit bar on his return. Dean has his back against Baby's side, his face turned up toward the sky, absently twirling the ring on his finger. Cas watches him lower his gaze down to the ring and smile, a real genuine smile.  
  
Cas feels a little more sober at the sight. He clears his throat as he punches the latch on the door to rejoin his friend, announcing his presence. Dean recovers quickly, stuffing his hands into his pockets and Cas realizes that Dean doesn’t want him to notice that he enjoys the ring. Cas ponders this as he tosses his coat and jacket into the backseat of the Impala and slams the door shut.   
  
“Where to, Dean?” he asks, as they start walking.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homophobia warning.

Dean hadn’t gone into the bar with any specific intention. They were just two friends grabbing drinks. But Cas had been uptight. Something was obviously bothering him. Dean dialed up the charm, wanting --no, needing-- to coax Cas out of the depths and shake him loose.

Dean wanted to be the one to make him smile, get him to bare his soul. At most Dean expected genial stoicism in response to his touches and lopsided grins. What he didn’t expect was for Cas to throw away all his angelic pretenses and flirt back.

And then Cas was leaning into him, the ring teasing Dean with What-If’s.

 _\--What if I pretend, just for the night, that we belong together?_ \--  
  
It wouldn't be the first time Dean has fantasized about being with Cas. But what they have is complicated, so he's never acted on anything. Lately it has seemed easier to let go and relax with Cas more, his hands gravitating toward Cas just to land a touch here or there.

They share a volatile past that has strengthened their faith in each other rather than destroy it. Perhaps it is partly due to Dean witnessing Castiel’s resolve to remain by his side, through thick and thin, several times over. It has allowed Dean to rip up Sainthood Applications and really see to the heart of matters: this angel trusted _him._

In Dean’s 2014 apocalyptic acid trip, compliments of Zachariah, Cas was still there despite their disagreements on dealing with Lucifer. There was suspiciously _something-more_ between their future selves. They were able to reach some level of intimacy in a world that was burning down around them. Ever since he came back from that, the possibility that they could have something is always lingering in his subconscious.  
  
But then something came into play that should have ripped them apart, should have made them enemies. Dean had become a monster. A black-eyed demonic force that came inches away from murdering the very brother he had died for and spent a lifetime protecting.

Cas didn’t plot Dean's destruction. Cas wouldn’t even throw a punch back in his own defense when Dean crushed him to a pulp. Instead, he promised to stay with Dean long after everyone left, going so far as allowing him to murder the world rather than raise a hand against him.   
  
Sure, Cas has made some shitty decisions himself. But when he looks at the angel sitting next to him, Dean knows that Alfie was right. Castiel always acts on too much heart. Isn’t the road to hell paved with good intentions?  
  
Speaking of which, Cas had fought against Hell, the world and even Heaven. For Dean. Always _for_ Dean. And for a long time Dean has allowed guilt to consume him and to convince him to not get close to Cas _like that_. He argued within himself that it was for Cas’ own good and to keep Cas safe. But Dean is also starting to realize that despite how hard he has tried to not to, he still fell in love. He has known it for a long time, the last few years at least.  
  
Dean has always been responsible for everyone around him for as long as he can remember. Until Cas came into his life. And damn it, Dean has realized recently just how badly he’s wanted someone to protect him, to take care of him for a change. It is deeper than a want. It is a need, as much as one needs oxygen to breathe. Even though he takes care of Cas, too, there is a give-and-take so it isn't heavily one-sided.  
  
By the time they had gotten to the pool table Dean was reeling from his inebriation and not just of the fermented variety. He was intoxicated by Cas.

So why not? If they’re going to go to the mat for one another and be there until the bitter end, why not go for it? Why not make something from all this built up electricity crackling between them? Everyone already knows they're each others' weaknesses; they've been called out on it enough that suppressing his feelings won't save either of them anymore. They'll still be pitted against each other. But at least they'll be a united front and they can stop making themselves miserable by holding back.  
  
\-- _Fuck it. If he pulls away, fine. If he doesn’t…--_  
  
So Dean had made a move, stepped in close, and threw out his entire  Don’t Let Cas Too Close rule book. He violated the personal space he has lectured Cas about, pressing his body against Cas as he’d never done before. Amazingly Cas responded back, sending Dean into a tailspin. Dean supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Cas has never really had a problem with getting into Dean’s space.  
  
Still, it all was a fucking epiphany. He marveled over it while waiting for Cas to come back out of the bar with his forgotten coat and jacket. Lit by the sickly glow of the bar’s neon signs Dean knew he was in love with his best friend. He's known for so long and he's tired of fighting it. He gazed at the ring that he couldn’t bear to remove.  
  
  
_____________________  
  
  
Cas interrupts Dean’s reverie and they turn to walk down the main stretch of road together, past the closed mini-mall. An old streetlight is shorting out, causing their shadows to dance sporadically on the cracked sidewalk. Being outdoors in the cool air revitalizes the senses they had dulled with alcohol, sobering them up minute-by-minute. Neither talking, neither touching, just slowly walking in amiable silence.  
  
The space between them is still charged with the tension of pool-table touches and whispers and deep-throated chuckles but both of them are unsure how to translate it into this new moment now that they’ve left the bar behind. What is the next move? Will one of them line up the eight ball and sink it? Or will they keep scratching and miss?  
  
It takes them an hour to walk the three miles to the parking lot of their motel. Dean stops short and stares hard at a handicapped parking sign, unable to look at Cas when he says, “I left my key in my room. Do- do you want to hang out in yours?” He holds his breath, waiting to see how Cas answers.  
  
Cas doesn’t move or say anything for so long that Dean finally glances over at him. Cas is staring across the lot at the door-lined building with an expression of uncertainty. Cas' room and the brothers' shared room are immediately next door on ground level, several yards ahead. Cas turns to Dean and after another agonizingly long minute he blinks once and nods. Dean slowly lets out his breath.    
  
When they get inside Dean nervously snatches up the TV remote and fiddles with it while Cas walks over to table. Dean is grateful that he only feels a gentle buzz so he can maintain some self-control and not act like a wild, out-of-control animal that freaks Cas out. That is until Cas slowly pulls off his loose tie and lets it trickle to the small, round dining table. He meets Dean’s eyes and they both freeze.  
  
They’re two friends walking a fine line, down the middle of the road. They both know they need to jump to one side or the other and either maintain what they have or take a major risk on something bigger.  
  
Dean doesn’t know what Cas wants from him but he knows what he wants. And he realizes with sober clarity that now isn’t the time. Not here, not like this. Not when one or both of them is still slightly drunk. Everything is all wrong and backward. He wants to do this right or not at all.  
  
Reluctantly Dean sighs, breaking eye contact to toss the remote onto the single bed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Actually, I think I do have my key.” In a theatrical move Dean pulls out his wallet and pulls the key out from the folds. “Ah, forgot I had put it in here. I’m going to go get Baby and turn in.”  
  
He feels a pang of regret as he watches Cas’ face twist into confusion before smoothing back out into his typical indifference. Cas shrugs and half-heartedly offers to walk back with him but Dean is already backing out the door and waving him off. This is the last thing he wants to do but he needs time alone to think.  
  
________________________________  
  
  
Cas doesn’t think he can handle the emotions boiling beneath the surface of his taut skin. It hurts too much. He presses a hand to his chest in an attempt to calm his racing heart. He is both breathing too fast and suffocating.  
  
So Dean was just being Dean. A flirt, a tease. Or maybe Dean was being entirely human and these were normal ways to act with a friend in a bar. But Cas knows that last one isn’t right. Cas may not win any contests on human nature or pop culture but he knows what longing feels like and for once Dean acted on it in a manner that Cas can't misinterpret. And this isn’t the first time they’ve had drinks in a bar but it is definitely the first time Dean has treated him this way.  
  
He is part-angel, part-human, though closer to human than he dare admit. He is stuck in the middle of two worlds, feeling like he belongs to neither. Cas is free-floating, untethered, and it is lonely out here. Tonight was the first time, in a long time, that he felt he could plant roots and clip his wings, choosing once-and-for-all to stay. That it could all be worth this time he’s spent in limbo.  
  
\-- _Maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I encouraged him too much. I made him uncomfortable. I was supposed to say no to his invitation to come to my room.--_  
  
Cas can’t help himself. He has to give Dean the benefit of doubt. What else could explain the extreme change in Dean’s attitude?  
  
He resigns himself to this fate of being the onlooker, the grunt, the backstage help. He’ll shower. He’ll go to bed. He’ll wake up and attend this wedding. And then they’ll all return to the bunker. The Three Musketeers, brothers in arms.  
  
Things will go back to the way they’ve always been. Dean pounding on his door on Tuesdays to announce it is laundry day, Thursday night movie, Pancakes on Saturday mornings. Sam buried in a book or his laptop, ever the pacifist when Dean and Cas butt heads on anything from a dramatic television story arc, to failed social graces, how to properly toast bread, or to crap choices they make in defense of one another on a dangerous mission.  
  
Cas chides himself for letting it get out of hand tonight, for spooking Dean. For even letting Dean step foot inside the door after all that transpired. His anger at Dean so easily turns to hate for himself.  
  
He goes into the bathroom and sighs at his reflection as he undoes the buttons of his cigarette-smoke-soaked shirt. Right now Cas just wants to wash away the night, wash away the overwhelming pain of rejection, and get off of this tilt-a-whirl of a ride. Sometimes he misses being a full-bodied angel. It’s just easier to feel numb.  
  
As he slips into a clean shirt post-shower, the sound of the Impala rumbles through the thin walls, rattling the drape drawn window. At first he feels relief that Dean made it to the car and back. But that feeling is quickly replaced with irritation, the pendulum of human emotion once again surprising him with its swift swing from one extreme to another.  
  
_\--Why should Dean keep the ring? He doesn’t comprehend the weight of its true significance.--_  
  
Cas flings his motel door open and stalks down the concrete walkway toward the room next door, boxer-clad, his white t-shirt damp from not fully drying himself off. He knows he probably looks crazed with his wet, wild hair. The temperature is cooler than it had been earlier in the day and he would have probably shivered in the cool air if his adrenaline wasn’t keeping him warm.  
  
Dean stops fiddling with the key when he sees Cas approach, unable to keep his gaze from wandering up and down Cas’ body. But his smile slowly fades at the sight of the angel’s furrowed brow and narrowed eyes.  
  
“You okay? I was- I didn’t want to bug you with these.” Dean holds out the clothes as though they’re a peace offering.  
  
Cas takes them and loses his resolve yet again, as he’s done many times. It is rare he is rendered speechless but the swing from anger, to self-blame, to irritation, to hurt and back again is maddening. Wash, rinse, repeat. He cycles through the emotions anew. He’s still a little dizzy from the alcohol and a headache is creeping up his temples.  
  
He stares down at the clothes he is now holding. Dean must have carefully folded them because Cas distinctly remembers unceremoniously tossing them in the car. He tries to not be touched that Dean bothered when they smell like they'd been dunked in a vat of beer and needed a washing anyway.  
  
“Cas?” Dean asks, still watching him.  
  
He clears his throat and looks up. “Uh, I just forgot to ask you what time to meet in the morning.”  
  
Dean’s concerned expression transforms into relief. “Well, we’ll probably do breakfast around 9, earlier if Sam has anything to say. Wedding isn’t until 4 in the afternoon.”  
  
Cas pats the bundle of clothes in his hands and says, “Okay, see you in the morning,” before pivoting to walk back to his room. He silently berates himself yet again. But he knows if he asks for it back now then everyone will be in sour moods tomorrow for the wedding. Better to just take the night at face-value and not be a spoke in the wheel.  
  
He hears Dean loudly whisper a raspy, “G’night, Cas,” before Cas shuts his door.  
  
  
_________________________  
  
  
Dean scrubs his face, the ring catching at the tender flesh to remind him to not rub so hard. Sam left to pick up breakfast so Dean is trying to wake himself up before he goes next door to fetch Cas. A soft knock echoes in the room right as he finishes drying his face on a starched towel.  
  
He grins when he opens the door but then reaches out for Cas’ arm to pull him inside quickly. Cas is still in his [now rumpled] white t-shirt and boxers from the night before. It was one thing to step out of his room in the dark of night but it is very much bright daylight and anyone could see him.  
  
“They look just like shorts,” Cas huffs when Dean laughingly scolds him for walking around outside in underwear. At least he has on the flip-flops he uses in motel showers and isn't barefoot.   
  
Dean rolls his eyes and doesn't have a chance to say more on the matter because Sam chooses that moment to return, dropping brown sacks on the table, hiking a brow at Cas’ attire and looking to Dean for explanation.  
  
Dean shrugs and pulls out some bakery muffins, holding one out to Cas first before picking one for himself. “Feels weird to be out and not have a case,” Dean mouths around a bite of blueberry muffin.  
  
“Dude, you sprayed me with crumbs. Can you not talk with food in your mouth?” Sam snaps, brushing a hand over his face.  
  
“Sorry,” Dean says, spraying him with crumbs again. Sam scowls.  
  
“So what the hell do we do with ourselves?” Dean asks. “The wedding isn’t for several hours.”  
  
Sam shrugs. “We could drive into the city and maybe go to a museum? Or catch a movie?”  
  
“Whaddya think, Cas? Movie might be good.” Dean turns to the dark-haired man who is brushing muffin crumbs from his hands, his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. “I take it ya like blueberry muffins?”  
  
Cas smirks and nods before swallowing. “I don’t know about a movie but a museum could be worthwhile.”  
  
“Walking around looking at dead guy paintings and naked penis statues is 'worthwhile' to you? More fun than an action-packed superhero movie? Really? I hear Wonder Woman is fucking fantastic.”  
  
But Dean is outnumbered. He tosses a pair of his pajama bottoms at Cas so he can put them on and get back to his room without traumatizing any unsuspecting mothers and children that could be in the parking lot. Cas slips them on right in the middle of the room and heads out.  
  
While they wait for Cas to get dressed, Sam gets out his phone and types away until he finds a history museum about thirty minutes away and Dean tries to not think about how fucking cute Cas looks first thing in the mornings.  
  
Dean grumbles about going to a museum a bit at first but he tries to psych himself up. History ain’t so bad and it is always amusing when Cas rolls his eyes and give them the _real version._  
  
By the time they arrive everyone is in good spirits. Sam and Cas hang back by a large fountain in the lobby while Dean buys the admission tickets from a very attractive blonde who keeps making heart eyes at Cas. Dean bristles a bit but tries to ignore her gratuitous stares. That is, until she locks eyes with him and asks him about Cas. Normally Dean rolls with things like this but he feels especially protective and uncharacteristically possessive.  
  
“Your friend there is real cute, the shorter one. Any chance he’d be interested in maybe coming over to chat with me?” She bats her sky blue eyes at Dean.  
  
He glances over his shoulder. Cas is animatedly slashing his hands in the air like he’s telling Sam something of great importance, but he can’t hear them and they aren’t looking his way. He slowly smiles as he looks back at the receptionist, a spark in his eye, and an idea that’ll get his jealousy under wraps. He holds up his hand, the ring glinting in the fluorescent light, and smugly says, “Sorry.”  
  
The receptionist looks surprised and a little horrified. He forgot he’s not in some big love-is-love city where most people are progressive and accepting. This is conservative Kansas country. Somehow it makes him feel even more gleeful that he’s shocked her, rather than making him feel embarrassed. He takes the tickets that are limply hanging in her hand and rejoins his group.  
  
Cas is talking about Romanesque something-or-other in regards to the big marble fountain before them. History always makes Cas come alive, causing him to emerge from his frump-and-grump shell. Dean makes sure to stand close enough to him that their shoulders touch while Sam is clearly over an arm’s length away. Sam doesn’t notice because it’s pretty much par for course for the two to be standing in each other’s breathing space. Cas just smiles brilliantly at him as Dean takes his bicep and steers him past the ticket desk, past the pink face of the woman who just tried to mack on his angel by proxy.  
  
The Civil War Room is first and probably Dean’s favorite era to discuss and learn about. He steps away from Cas and lets his eyes roam over the large glass cases filled with aged clothing, helmets, canteens, photographs and other memorabilia. Cas snorts in derision at a placard and moves on to a cannon set up in the center of the room.  
  
“Now this is what I’m talkin’ 'bout,” Dean says, sidling up to Cas. Across from the cannon is a wall-length case of more artillery which catches Dean’s eyes as much as candy in a candy store would entice a child so the two walk over to ogle the pieces. Cas tells him about heaven's armory in hush whispers, their heads close so other guests don't overhear.  
  
When they get to the Egyptian room Dean really gets excited. Almost everything is gilded in gold, there’s an encased mummy, and half a wall is covered in hieroglyphics. Sam is drawn to the ancient writing and peruses it with his keen eye while Dean and Cas turn to a miniature diorama of ancient Egypt.  
  
“Is it true that pyramids are launching pads for alien spaceships?” Dean asks Cas, leaning back a little, his back against Cas' shoulder and chest, nudging him in the side with his elbow.  
  
Cas frowns. “Why would alien space craft perch on the tip of a triangle? That seems highly unstable.”  
  
“Wait, so there _are_ aliens?” Dean asks.  
  
Before Cas can confirm or deny the existence of extraterrestrials Dean notices a man has been following them and is again lurking in the shadows, watching. Normally people milling about in a museum and following one another from room-to-room is normal. But this guy is intent on staring at their party-of-three.  
  
“Hold that thought. We _will_ discuss that later,” Dean says, pointing a finger at Cas’ chest, not taking his eyes off their stalker. His fingers twitch over the blade that is tucked into his pants under his flannel shirt, Cas intuitively following not far behind his shoulder as they walk over to the mystery man. 

“Can I help you with somethin’, man? You either got a staring problem or have some beef.”  
  
The man steps forward, a gold nametag flashes in Dean’s eye momentarily, and once it clears he can read: Manager. “I’m just watching the guests and making sure all is well,” he drawls lazily.  
  
“Yeah, okay, but you seem to be awfully focused on us specific. Why?” Sam is almost instantly at Dean's other side when he hears Dean’s irritated voice and tries to quietly reprimand him for his tone, looking around in embarrassment. But Dean doesn’t apologize and he keeps his eyes trained on the manager. Dean isn’t one to back down from a confrontation.  
  
“Just doing my job, sir,” he says tightly. “We want to be sure other guests are not bothered by certain company.”  
  
Dean can feel his cheeks heating up but it isn’t from anger. That bitch receptionist must have said something about _the gays_ wandering around their precious museum. Normally Dean would be more than happy to address the insinuation and defend his rights but he had come in under false pretenses on his own and is about to be outed when it isn't this loser manager's business.  
  
“What the hell does that mean?” Sam asks, not bothering to keep his voice lowered any longer.  
  
Cas is silently glaring at the manager, taking a protective step closer to Dean, which is the last thing Dean wants at the moment, only solidifying the idea that they're a couple, from a third party point-of-view, when they're not actually together.  
  
The manager holds up his hands but Dean speaks up before the manager can say something. “Let’s just go, guys. You’d think a man in charge of history would know the problems that come from bigotry and hatred.”  
  
Dean levels the receptionist with a look that he wishes could kill when they walk through the lobby, but she just crosses her arms and smirks.  
  
“What… the… hell?” Sam huffs after he slams his door.  
  
“Probably thought we wanted to steal something, Sammy. Don't worry about them," Dean lies easily, trying to reassure his brother. “Told ya we should've seen that movie.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not seen Wonder Woman so there's no spoilers. And there's a blast from the past in this chapter (they did talk to this character on the phone in season 12 but it has been years since they've actually seen him face-to-face). Also, I don't write smut but I tried a little sweetness at the end that I hope you like. Enjoy!

Sam can be a cock-block at the worst of times and the best of times. When he is around for the run-of-the-mill everyday, Dean can contain his feelings and thoughts a lot easier than when it’s just him and Cas. So Dean has been doing an incredibly successful job of avoiding any thoughts about playing pool with a certain blue-eyed someone… up until Sam ditched them at the movie theater.  
  
After the botched museum trip and an early lunch, they still have almost four hours to kill. They have just enough time for the movie after all. Except Sam went to get the tickets this time and he came back with only two for Wonder Woman and a single ticket for himself for some independent documentary mumbo-jumbo playing as a special viewing, or some other such nonsense.  
  
Dean is starting to suspect that Sam purposefully split off, just as he didn’t want to go to the bar.  
  
Speaking of, Dean rebukes himself for being a drunk fool the night before because _this_ is the awkwardness he wants to avoid feeling. The awkward, _\--We kinda, sorta did-but-didn’t do things that might be misconstrued as something bigger than what we are and now we have to sit in the dark and pretend to watch a movie when all I want to do is worship your body and tell you how much you mean to me.--_  
  
But instead of saying anything or letting on that he’s bothered about the bar and his eventual choice to reject Cas at the motel, Dean plasters on a charming smile and says, “Popcorn, right?” to Cas. He needs something to do and needs something to have on hand to distract himself with. Popcorn is the perfect answer. Plus, he knows Cas likes popcorn.  
  
They hurry through the line and find seats up toward the back, in the second to last row. The theater isn’t very large but the thermostat is set low so that no one overheats from being packed like sardines in a can.  
  
Dancing hotdogs urge everyone to turn cell phones on silent and be respectful of their neighbors. Dean folds his seat down and perches the popcorn on his lap as he tries to not think about what is so sticky under his right boot. Cas bumps his left elbow hard and mutters an apology.  
  
“You can have the armrest, Cas,” Dean whispers, pressing his arms tightly to his sides and cupping his hands around the tub of buttery popcorn.  
  
Dean looks over in amazement when Cas just lifts the arm rest up on a hinge, tucking it between their seats. It’s been so long since Dean has gone to the movies that he had no idea this was even a thing. That, or it’s always been a possibility and he’s an idiot.  
  
“There’s no need. Isn’t this better?” Cas asks, triumphantly prideful at knowing something very human that Dean clearly didn’t know. The lack of arm rest does give them extra room but also removes the only other barrier he had between him and Cas, now that his brother barrier was on the other end of the complex watching something about the evolution of food and the impact of genetically modified organisms on human beings, the ozone layer and the Milky Way. Or…… something like that. Dean mostly heard, “Blah blah blah,” when Sam explained it.  
  
Dean slides the tub of popcorn between them and Cas scoots over a little so it can balance on both of their thighs, their arms now resting together, shooting bolts of lightning through Dean’s body. He’s already missed the opening credits so he tries to pay attention and shoves popcorn in his mouth, leaving his lips numb with hot buttery salt.  
  
Somewhere along the way they’ve gravitated toward one another, Dean leaning in to whisper something at one point but not fully moving away when done, both of them gently pushing the empty popcorn bucket on the floor between their feet like some sort of weird footsie. Out of the corner of his eye Dean notices that Cas is looking down. He follows Cas’ gaze to Dean’s lap, where Dean is resting his hands against his own thighs. Cas is looking at the ring.  
  
Cas slowly lifts his gaze from the ring, letting his eyes trail up Dean’s thigh, hip, waist, chest, and lips before coming to rest on Dean’s wide eyes. He doesn’t try to look apologetic, or even embarrassed, at being caught looking. Dean is fully clothed but the way Cas just lazily took him all in, he might as well be fully exposed, and that familiar heat fills up his stomach and makes it’s way up his body to flush his cheeks.

But there is more than lust and want. There is that always present furrowed-brow question in Cas’ eye. Like he’s patiently waiting for an explanation and/or permission, ever waiting. Dean reflexively licks his lips. They aren’t drunk, they are alone and he could give Cas an answer and wipe that question right off of his face if Dean just leans in closer and closes his eyes…

Someone bumps the back of Dean’s chair hard, startling him and he loses Cas who is now rising up himself, the theater lights coming to life slowly as the final music score crescendos. Cas reaches a hand to Dean when he makes no move to get up [because it might be a little awkward to walk at this exact moment] but Dean takes it and lets himself be guided up, letting their hands linger a few seconds longer than necessary before he lets go.  
  
____________________  
  
  
If Cas could have smited that museum manager on the spot he would have. It wasn’t so much his tone or presence as much as it was the feelings of anger and embarrassment he could sense in Dean as he confronted the man. Dean was upset, which upset Cas.  
  
But Dean had decided it was best to walk away from this particular fight and then refused to acknowledge it nor elaborate on the matter any further, even though Cas can sense there was more to it all. Taking Dean’s lead Cas dropped it and they spent a much better afternoon together.  
  
They killed time at the movie and now they are back at the motel to get ready. It is an outdoor wedding set on the back-40 of someone’s land, far away from prying civilian eyes, so the dress is more casual than a formal, traditional wedding. Cas knows he needs to hurry up and meet the Winchesters but he feels inept at choosing something proper for an event he’s never attended nor experienced before.  
  
He’s seen a few wedding movies but those are over-dramatic, fictional depictions that he can hardly connect with reality. Will bridesmaids really be tearing at each other’s hair over a floral arrangement that the bride throws in the air? Will the groom really be sneaking off with the bride’s BFF to steal passionate kisses? Cas hardly thinks so, or at least hopes not.  
  
He’s still clutching two shirts in his hands when Dean’s familiar knock resounds. Frowning at the cloth in his hands, he opens the door without looking up, leaving the door open for Dean to come in. He walks back toward the bed to lay them down. “Dean, I do not know which would be more appropriate for this affair.”  
  
Cas shoots a look at Dean when he hears a choking sound, the door softly clicking shut behind Dean’s back. Dean appears to be okay, other than the odd momentary sound, but he’s frozen to the spot and staring at Cas’ chest.  
  
“Are you alright, Dean?”  
  
“Uh, wha- yes, no. I mean yes.” Dean has a little coughing fit and clears his throat, his eyes now do not want to land on one specific thing in the room for longer than a few seconds, least of all Cas. “Well anyway, ya need help? We need to go,” Dean says, shifting on his feet. Cas can feel nervousness rolling off of Dean and it dawns on him that it is probably due to his half-nakedness.  
  
Cas grabs the heather grey Henley, since Dean is wearing his black one, and slides it over his head. He buttons up two of the four buttons. “Better?” Cas asks, turning to Dean and splaying his hands out.  
  
“Uh, yeah, that one is good but why don’tcha try the other one on just so I can compare?” Dean asks tentatively, his eyes back on Cas, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.  
  
Cas looks down at the powder blue button-down laying on the comforter and considers it a moment, a boiling sensation in his gut causing his heart to skip a few beats. Sometimes Dean’s presence and closeness make his body malfunction a bit. It’s both pleasing and yet also scary because his palms usually end up clammy and he feels somewhat ill.  
  
It seems lately that Dean is the only one who makes him go haywire, so taking his shirt off while Dean watches is making all the alarms sound off in his mind at once.  
  
He takes the grey off and slips his arms into the blue. While he buttons it up Dean tears himself away to dig through Cas’ bag and comes up with a vest that has alternating light and dark grey vertical stripes.  
  
“Here, put this on over it,” Dean murmurs. “I think that’ll do it.”  
  
“Okay?” Cas asks once he’s finished with the buttons. The vest cinches in snug around his waist. Dean steps up to fix his collar but doesn’t step back when done.  
  
“Yeah, you got that whole college professor vibe,” Dean says in a voice that sounds like adoration, with a half-smile and soft eyes. “Well, minus the bow tie, which would be cool, but all I got is a black tie if you want it.”  
  
Cas looks down and smooths his hand over the buttons. “But… we’re going to a wedding, not a school.” He isn’t sure that looking like a teacher is appropriate. It doesn’t match the context.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes but laughs, belying the initial look of annoyance with the sound of his chuckle. “It’s- You look good. This one gets my vote,” Dean offers. “Ready to go?”  
  
Cas pats his back pocket of his pants and feels the familiar lump of his wallet, finds his room key in the front pocket, and grabs his aviator sunglasses off the motel dresser. “Ready.”  
  
__________________  
  
  
“Jody!” Sam calls out as the trio walks down a long path leading to a barn, it’s large doors are open wide. The path splits, one way leading directly into the barn and the other way leading to a makeshift altar between several rows of chairs.. Beyond the barn lay a wooded area, the sun starting to make its descent in that direction, though it won’t be dark for a few more hours.  
  
Dean puts a hand over the top of his sunglasses to block out the blinding light, trying to see what his gigantic brother sees above the heads of the other guests. “Jody’s here?” he asks before his brain catches up and he remembers that she’s the reason Krissy got in touch with them in the first place. He has no idea how the women know each other but hunters seem to be making connections throughout the nation as cases necessitate it.  
  
A few guests part as they get closer and Jody is holding out her hands and grinning, pulling Sam into an affectionate hug before turning on Dean and squeezing him briefly. She puts her hands on her hips, elbows out, taking up space and presence.  
  
“Can’t believe you guys know Krissy. We got caught up in a vampire case together and you dingbats were brought up. Small fucking world,” Jody says with a laugh.  
  
“Yeah, we’ve worked with her a couple of times. That girl is full of surprises,” Sam says.  
  
“You’re lookin’ good, Sheriff. Didn’t know lady cops knew how to dress up,” Dean interjects. Jody is wearing a form-fitting green dress that reaches just below the knees and a pair of black flats. Good choice, considering they’re going to be outside all evening.  
  
“You shoulda seen what I wore on my date with the King of Hell,” she says with a smirk.  
  
“Well, I mean it, you look nice.” Dean realizes he has a funny way of paying her the compliment in the first place but Jody is like a mom but also, weirdly, like a buddy. It’s hard to know where to draw the line so he doesn’t say something inappropriate.    
  
“Takes one rom-com chick to know one, and you, sir, look just as excited as I am to watch love bloom right before our very eyes as the sun sets,” Jody says in a mockingly sweet voice, exaggeratingly batting her eyelashes.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. He knows he’ll never live that conversation down.  
  
Cas clears his throat next to Dean, fiddling with the tie Dean lent him right before they rode on out. He’s pulled it loose so Dean taps his hand to signal at him to stop messing with it and then fixes it for him while introducing the two. “Oh, Jody, you probably heard of Castiel, huh? From Claire? Jody, Cas. Cas, Jody.”  
  
Cas politely says, “I’ve heard all about you,” and puts out a hand for her to shake.  
  
“Nuh-uh, if you’re with these guys then you have to put up with one of my mom hugs. C’mere,” Jody says, stepping forward to give Cas what looks like a bone-crushing hug. “Claire and Alex stayed back home. This isn’t really their cup of tea,” Jody says in a conspiratorial whisper before she pulls away and winks.  
  
Cas somehow looks both disappointed and relieved at the same time. Dean claps him on the shoulder and smiles which seems to reassure him while Jody grins at the two of them, back-and-forth, her hands back on her hips like some superhero. Or a mom who is about to scold her little boys for something.  
  
“Oh hey, I think I see Aaron. I wanna go say hi. Be right back,” Sam says, smartly sensing something is about to happen and marching off before Dean can even ask who the hell Aaron is and how Sam knows him.  
  
“He’s like a fucking giraffe,” Dean explains, shaking his head at his brother’s retreating back. When he turns back Jody’s grin deepens. “What?”  
  
“So, Dean, did you guys get in yesterday,” she asks slyly in such a way that makes Dean’s heart pick up it’s rhythm. “I coulda swore I saw you at Ringo’s Tavern last night.”  
  
“I, uh- what?” Everything sort of gets buzzy sounding and the air feels ten degrees hotter.    
  
Jody holds out her hands and shrugs her shoulders. “Look, I don’t judge. Y’all looked too cozy for me to interrupt. Figured I’d see you at the wedding so I didn’t pop over to say hello.”  
  
Dean doesn’t know how Cas does it but he maintains that look of indifference, like a marble statue, and Dean is suddenly envious of that character trait when the tips of his ears feel like they’re catching fire and signaling his embarrassment to everyone within a half-mile radius.  
  
“Besides,” she continues, “Claire has already told me enough so can’t say I’m surprised.”  
  
“Wait, Claire said what?” Dean’s voice reaches an embarrassing pitch so he takes several slow breaths. What did Claire say? Why? How would she know anything? Things are getting a little too personal in a very public place.  
  
“Dean,” Cas interrupts, “I thought you were aware of the many things others have said in regard to our relationship.” And he’s just so perfectly stoic and cool about it all, like it’s completely normal for angels, demons and humans to constantly tease them. But now his pseudo daughter is talking about them and Cas has nothing more to say?  
  
“Is this a joke? Am I being Punk’d? We’re-we’re just friends,” Dean sputters. He actually does look around for cameramen that could be lurking at the treeline and around the barn.  
  
“Uh-huh,” Jody says slowly, in playful disbelief. “I don’t think that is how ‘just friends’ play pool, Dean.” She actually does the fucking finger quotes, grinning and getting some distorted, sick pleasure from watching him squirm.  
  
Shit. This isn’t the way things were supposed to go. Dean had come up with a plan the night of the bar, after Cas had taken his clothes and returned to his room. He was just… waiting for the right time. But everyone is beating him to some punchline and he hasn’t even gotten a word in edgewise first. Hell, he hasn’t even talked to Cas about anything.  
  
Shit. He’s supposed to say something, some sort of comeback here, but he’s actually speechless for once. Oh good, here comes Sammy. Come on, Sam. You’re the next contestant on _save me the fuck from this conversation like you always do!_  
  
SHIT. Aaron. Aaron Bass. Aaron Bass is following Sam over to say hello. Dean definitely remembers who Aaron is now.  
  
“Hey, Dean, I found your gay thing,” Sam says so obnoxiously and so loud that several people they don’t know glance over. Cas fixes Dean with a hard and unreadable stare that is so intense that Dean can’t even look at him. It’s all in his peripheral and it doesn’t look pretty.  
  
“You know what,” Jody pipes up after glancing between Dean and Cas, “I’m going to go find my seat because they’re starting soon. See you boys after.” And then she’s off to save herself from the awkwardness that just settled in around the four men.  
  
Dean forces a laugh and ignores Cas, reaching out a hand to shake Aaron’s in greeting. “I almost didn’t recognize you, man. How you doin’?” Be cool, just be cool, Winchester.  
  
“Good, good. I shouldn’t be surprised that you know Krissy. You guys probably know everyone.” Aaron’s big eyes lack any of the flirtiness they had had during their first ever confrontation and Dean is reminded again that he almost fell for the guy’s scheme. He can’t help it but he is still impressed. The guy could be an actor.  
  
“Yeah, good kid.” Dean is about to ask where Aaron’s guardian is at but a glance over to his left tells him all he needs to know. His golem is lumbering about nearby, watching but giving Aaron some space.  
  
“So who is your friend?” Aaron asks, turning his attention to Cas.  
  
“Oh right. Aaron, this is Castiel. Cas, this is Aaron.” Dean feels the need to explain so he adds, “We met him awhile back. What, four years ago, Sam?” Cas visibly relaxes when Sam nods in the affirmative, managing a tight smile and firm handshake.  
  
At that moment a man comes down the aisle asking everyone to sit down because the ceremony is about to begin so the men turn to the rows only finding enough empty spots for two.  
  
“Dean, I’ve got a seat up here if you want it,” Aaron offers.  
  
Dean finally looks at Cas and says, “Ah, thanks, but my plus-one here might not like it if I abandoned him.” Dean didn’t think Aaron’s eyes could get any bigger but they can and they do.  
  
“Uh, yeah, I’ll sit with you if it’s cool,” Sam interrupts, the odd man out through the whole conversation up to this point and Dean feels only slightly bad. Serves him right, bringing Aaron over like he did.  
  
“Awesome. Come on, Cas,” Dean says, pressing a hand to his lower back and guiding him to the two chairs he saw near the back left. He tries to pretend he doesn’t overhear Aaron telling Sam that he really _could_ have gotten lucky if he had kept up his charade years ago, and he doubly pretends that he doesn’t hear Sam’s stupid laugh over the music that’s starting.  
  
“You called me your plus-one, Dean,” Cas whispers as a matter-of-fact once they’ve sat down. A breeze carries the scent of his minty pine aftershave, surrounding Dean and messing with all of his senses.  
  
“And? What’s your point?” The scent is both masculine and fresh and Dean wants to just bury his head into Cas’ nec-…  
  
“It’s- nothing.” Cas presses his lips together tightly, his eyes visibly crinkling even though Cas has his sunglasses on.  
  
They turn their attention to the barn when the music changes. Krissy appears from within and walks down the path between all of the seats, down to the waiting arms of her fiance. It’s a fairly quick and simple proceeding but Dean is captivated.  
  
When the bride and groom each take a turn to say their vows and slip a ring onto the other’s hand, Dean can see Cas tense up out of the corner of his eye. He turns to give him a questioning look but Cas gives the briefest of head shakes. Dean is convinced that they could both be mute the rest of their lives and they’d know exactly what the other is saying. Now knowing what each other is thinking is quite another story. He doesn't know what Cas is thinking but Cas is definitely saying he doesn't want to be asked about being uncomfortable.   
  
The next thing they know there is a kiss, a cheer from the crowd and everyone is being encouraged by the officiant to go into the barn for food, drink and partying. Dean slowly rises, waiting for the other people in their aisle to move out of the way, except no one is in a major hurry.  
  
Cas places a heavy hand on Dean’s left shoulder to get his attention when he, too, stands. “Dean, I shouldn’t have given you the ring like I did."  
  
“What?” Dean isn’t sure, over the noise of everyone talking and the music that is still playing, but he thinks Cas just mentioned the elephant in the room that they’ve all been beautifully avoiding.  
  
Cas fidgets and gestures toward Dean’s hand. “I should have been more tactful. I believe I overstepped one of the most basic human boundaries. I’m sorry.”  
  
Dean isn’t sure whether he should laugh, hug the guy, or take the ring off and cry. He tries for the last one, minus the crying. Cas watches him as he grabs it and gently twists but it won’t budge. Dean frowns at it and tries again. It isn’t tight and it isn’t like it is adhered to his skin. It’s more like an invisible force won’t let it slip off.  
  
“Dean, what’s wrong?” Cas asks, noticing his struggle.  
  
“Cas, it won’t fucking come off,” Dean says, his voice grounding out the words in panic.  
  
He holds his hand out and lets Cas try. “You _have_ been acting peculiar lately,” he says, bringing the ring (and Dean’s hand) close to his face to scrutinize his own workmanship. “Maybe I made a mistake somewhere.”  
  
“Yeah, well, people are looking at us,” Dean says through gritted teeth, pulling his hand back and ignoring the fact that, in actuality, not a single person is looking at them nor giving a hoot what they are doing. “I’ll try some mayonnaise or something later. Prob’ly just needs some grease to help it slip off.”  
  
Cas doesn’t respond and finally their aisle is cleared out so they head into the barn. The center of the large, open space is reserved for dancing and mingling, with tables and chairs lining each side of the barn for people to sit. A long buffet table at the far back is loaded with food and the cake.  
  
“Hey, whaddya mean I’m acting peculiar? I’m acting just fine,” Dean says defensively. He follows Cas to a table along the left side of the barn and they take seats next to each other.  
  
Cas side-eyes him and when Dean won’t relent with asking the question until Cas sighs and relents. Like talking to a toddler he carefully and slowly explains, “You have been very physically and verbally… affectionate with me as of late. More than usual.”  
  
“Pssh, I could say the same for you, dude,” Dean throws back. Cas has to be off his rocker if he doesn’t notice his own behavior. The bar, letting Dean come into his motel room that night while slowly taking off his tie, walking around in his boxers, and letting Dean come in when he was shirtless only an hour ago.  
  
Surprisingly Cas doesn’t deny it and seems to be thinking over the past few weeks himself, staring off at some distant unknown. Truthfully it started before they’d even gotten to Conway Springs, Kansas. Little things at the bunker pulling them closer together so slowly that their actions were easily explained away and dismissed. Cas had been a little bit of a flirt, for example, but Dean had passed it off as Cas getting more comfortable and picking up nuances from television.    
  
But what is more shocking is that Dean hasn’t even realized just how different he himself had been acting. Even his thoughts were becoming more and more pronounced and taking on a life of their own. Usually he’d nip any fantasy about Cas in the bud instantly, but lately he has been letting the fantasies play themselves out, even pretending to actually be with Cas like he was some high school crush that Dean couldn’t stop daydreaming about.  
  
Dean is surprised he hasn’t been writing D + C all over his notes and the journal. And the problem with that thought is that a few months ago he’d have thought that was the dumbest, most ridiculous idea but now? He’d totally doodle their names everywhere without a care in the world.  
  
“Did- did you unknowingly curse me, Cas?” Dean asks, trying to tug on the ring again. It will twist around and doesn't feel tight, but it won't come off. Dean realizes he feels very similarly to how he felt when Famine had been to that town years ago, like his insides are made of love goo and he can’t keep his eyes to himself.  
  
“I don’t believe so, Dean.” Cas frowns at him from his seat at the table. “Why would the ring be affecting me?” Cas reaches over and takes Dean’s hand to stop him from breaking his finger with the effort of trying to remove the ring, only pulling away when Sam plops down in the seat to Dean’s right.  
  
Aaron is behind him and asks if they mind if he joins their table. “Hey, man, take a seat and join the Funhouse.”  
  
Sam quirks a brow at his brother. “Funhouse?”  
  
Dean waves a dismissive hand at Sam. “I’ll tell ya later. For now, drinks. And definitely some food.” Dean stands up and walks over where a line is starting to form but none of the other guys follow him. He grabs two plates in frustration at the new knowledge and turn of events, angrily loading one plate with things he knows Cas likes and things Cas should try.  
  
He balances them carefully as he walks back over, stepping around screeching children that are chasing each other around the tables. He sets the one heaping plate in front of a very surprised Cas and just grunts at him. He knows Cas will know it means, ‘Just shut up and eat it,’ without him needing to speak.  
  
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, eyeing him fondly. And Dean just wants to grab his stupid, beautiful face and kiss it silly when he looks at him like that, but his brother is watching him with _that look_ and he knows that it isn’t just in their heads. Yeah, they’ve both been acting crazy. And everyone knows it.  
  
The night continues on. The happy newlyweds are announced before joining their guests in the barn, the music picks up, food is consumed, beers get passed around and soon the dance space is filled with people of all ages and stages. The Winchesters aren’t really the hipster, pop-music dancing types so they watch and make commentary, Aaron filling them in on the work he's continued since they last spoke.  
  
The more Dean drinks, the more he knows he should be concerned as he feels the last vestiges of his self control slipping away, bumping his knee suggestively into Cas’ knee under the table and stealing longer-than-necessary stares. But the problem with losing control is that sometimes you don’t care that it is happening. Dean definitely doesn’t care. Having acknowledged this growing pull between them has now intensified it tenfold. Something is urging them to give in.    
  
The person manning the music announces it’s time to slow it down and puts on a slow song Dean doesn’t recognize. Several people practically flee the dance floor, one crazy drunk aunt sways about with herself, and a few couples linger. All Dean can think about is taking Cas over there and holding him.  
  
He looks over to find Cas watching him and that non-existent telepathic link tells him Cas wants the same. It’s so not him to act on a fantasy such as this one, and his baby brother of all people is watching, but Dean is drunk, happy, and doesn’t give a shit if he’s cursed or not.  
  
He smiles, stands and holds a hand out to Cas. “C’mon, yer gonna dance with me and fuckin’ like it,” he slurs, still able to mask some of his feelings and actions with his machismo. Like, how dare he actually politely ask the guy he's in love with to slow dance with him at a romantic wedding. It wouldn't have killed him or his image. He regrets the aggressive command instantly. That is until Cas bursts out laughing.  
  
 _\--See? Cas gets me.--_  
  
“Wow, Dean, that’s so romantic,” his brother pipes up, rolling his eyes. Sam has switched to punch so he can drive them all back to the motel later, easing down on his buzz.  
  
Dean pulls Cas close to his backside, intertwining their fingers, while wagging a finger from his free hand at Sammy’s face. “Shhhhhh-ut it. Why dun you go ask Jody to dance, hmm?” Maybe the curse will wear off on Sam and he can go make his own embarrassing decisions with someone that he likes while Dean watches.  
  
“Fine, I will,” Sam says, literally rising up to the challenge and walking across the barn to the other side where Jody is sitting with her friends.  
  
Dean smirks and leads Cas over to the dance space. When he turns to face Cas’ flushed face he’s suddenly uncertain and shy. “Um, ‘ve never danced with a guy… I dunno how this works,” he admits. Oh, he's done other things with guys. But slow dance? Dean can't even recall the last time he slow danced with a woman, and never with a man.  
  
A smile slowly develops on Cas’ face and Dean stares at his lips, transfixed. Cas steps closer, placing a hand on Dean’s hip to pull him closer, before slipping both hands under Dean’s arm to rest against the middle of Dean’s back. Dean places his on Cas’ shoulder, moving them across his upper back to rest between the place he imagines Cas’ wings used to be and he lets Cas slowly move them.  
  
It’s like a hug, but gentler, without their usual bear-hug squeeze. Dean sighs heavily and relaxes, rubbing Cas' back in slow circles. “We should prob’ly figure this, whatever this is, out,” Dean says calmly but without concern.  
  
“Mmm hmm,” Cas replies, pressing his temple to Dean’s stubbly cheek. They rest like that a moment, letting the music swell around them and all the other people disappear. Dean pulls away when the last chorus plays, looks at Cas’ lips and then his eyes. He always thought he’d be the one to take the first step. But before he can, Cas placing a hand behind Dean’s neck and gently guiding his lips down until they press together softly. Dean’s eyes flutter closed in surrender and he presses back after a half-second hesitation. It is slow and sweet. Cas' lips are soft and pillowy, and he playfully catches Dean's lower lip between his, sucking gently before releasing him.  
  
This is what Dean has craved for as long as he can remember. Button-popping passion and frantic impatience is great and all. But this? Is it possible to make love to someone with only your lips? To tell them how much they mean to you without words but instead with the painfully slow pressure of two mouths joining? No one has ever affected Dean with something so simple and yet so complex. Dean cups a hand to Cas’ cheek, letting his thumb brush across the skin there tenderly, enjoying the feel of his stubble as he parts Cas' lips slowly with his tongue.  
  
When they part he can see a sheen of unshed tears in Cas’ eyes, slender fingers gently massaging the nape of his neck. Dean smiles, pressing his forehead down to Cas', their noses parked side-by-side. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out,” he breathes. "We always do."


	4. Chapter 4

“This is why we should keep field notes, Dean!” Sam is in the bunker library, gathering up papers in from his research on the witch case from weeks ago, the whole reason Cas made the ring in the first place.

Dean taps two fingers to his temple. “It’s all up here, Sammy. Don’t need to get all fancy and waste time filling out paperwork. We don’t get paid to do this gig, in case you forgot.”

Sam clenches his jaw and glares at Dean. “You know it doesn’t have to be CSI level shit, Dean. You can keep a journal like Dad. That way when you, or Cas, is hit with a fucking spell you can remember the fine details.”

“I remember,” Cas says absently from his seat at the table, his head bent over a book that Sam had tossed on the table in front of him. “If you get me some paper I’ll write down her incantation and we can try to make sense of it.”

While Sam goes to retrieve a legal pad, Dean leans back in his chair and looks at the ring where it sits in the middle of the table, Cas sitting across the way, the great divide between them yawning wide.  

Back at the wedding, when Dean had said, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out,” he felt that same jolt he felt when Cas first slipped the ring onto his finger, like he had been zapped with an icy heat, clear up his arm and to his heart. Dean had taken Cas’ hand then and they weaved their way back to their table, leaving the dance floor and the next song behind. He told Cas what he had felt and they both sat in stunned silence as the ring slid right off without a problem.

Dean isn’t sure what to think anymore. He had felt this compelling need to keep the ring on for weeks and when he did try to take it off it wouldn’t budge, not until they had kissed. Whatever pull was on him dissipated and he had felt more in control of himself. But his feelings for Cas? Those hadn’t disappeared. Those were there long before the ring and the witch and this whole mess came into the picture.

It was more like the ring or the spell, or whatever the hell happened, had slowly stripped away his reservations. But it also magnified his affections for Cas so that Dean could not so easily repress them. When they were apart it was easy to resist, but the closer they were in proximity, the more that Dean was weak to his very real desires.

They had left the wedding shortly after the --whatever it was-- was broken. They said goodbyes to Jody and Aaron, grabbed Sam as their DD, and explained to Sam on the drive that they thought they had been duped with magic, a curse.

Sam had been quiet for the most part and terse for the other parts, biding his time until he could get his brother alone. When they reached the motel Cas went his separate way with a sad smile in Dean’s direction and Sam about manhandled Dean through their door before biting out, “What the fuck, Dean!”

“We’re gonna do this now, Sam? Really?” Dean was already sobered but he was tired and extremely confused so the last thing he wanted was to be yelled at. He had pulled the ring out of his pocket and tossed it in his duffel without a second glance, making his way his way to the bathroom. But Sam had come around and blocked him.

“Yes, now. Dean, do you realize how bad this is? Cas is your best friend. If you hurt him, so help me...”

“Hurt him?” The last thing Dean wanted to do was hurt Cas, but he had failed to see how it was all his fault and why his brother was so mad. They didn’t even realize until tonight, weeks and weeks after Dean got the ring, that something was amiss so it wasn’t as though they hid anything from Sam.

“You don’t exactly have a good track record in relationships, Dean. And if it was some curse then-”

“What the fuck?” Dean had shoved his brother out of his way and slammed the bathroom door. Dean had stayed there, leaning against the door with his eyes closed, for a long time. He could hear Sam stomping around the room as he got ready for bed. If Dean could hear him through the bathroom then Cas most likely heard the brothers fighting through their shared wall.

Still resting against the bathroom door, Dean had touched his lips as he recalled their first kiss, a sting of tears prickled his closed eyelids. If Cas was under some influence then he most likely wasn’t in control of everything that transpired. In fact, it was Cas who initiated the kiss, when Dean had been able to resist time and again. Dean wanted to believe it was something Cas had wanted, even now when the curse had apparently been stopped, but how could Cas want it?

 _\--And what had stopped it?--_    
  
One minute the ring wouldn’t come off, then they kissed and it practically fell off without any resistance. Dean had tried to reason it away with the excuse of having swollen fingers earlier in the evening. Nothing more, nothing less.

Dean finally pushed away from the door and got ready for bed, returning to a semi-dark room. He could make out the lumpy shape of his brother in the bed near the window. A street light filtered through the curtains making the fabric glow an unhealthy shade of nicotine orange. Dean had laid down, tried to breathe evenly and not think about the entire weekend: the touches, the dance and especially not the kiss. He had felt like his heart was breaking as he massaged his finger where the ring used to sit. The skin there was softer than the rest of his fingers.

Sam had sighed. “I’m not mad, Dean. Well, no, I am mad but not at you. I’m worried. You guys are my brothers and I don’t want either of you getting hurt. This whole situation is just fucked.” 

“I know,” Dean had said, crossing his arms over his stomach, staring up toward the ceiling light fixture.

“Do you? You can’t come back from this unscathed, not unless it’s something you both want. I saw you guys tonight and I just- I just didn’t realize it wasn’t real. And if you were the one hit with the spell then Cas probably thought it was real, too.”

Dean furrowed his brow, tried to not let the words ‘it wasn’t real’ affect him. “But I thought the point of the ring was to prevent her from using anything on me?” It didn’t make sense because Dean knew he was under some influence and yet he shouldn’t have been.

“Shit, you’re right,” Sam had said. He sighed again, this one more tired than the last. “We’re getting outta here first thing and you guys will have to try to remember everything that was said and done on that case.”

Cas had emerged from his room in the morning looking like he had slept just about as well as Dean had. Which involved not sleeping at all. He climbed in the backseat and was silent for the three-hour drive. If Cas was good at only one thing it would be giving people the silent treatment.

As soon as the men had lumbered through the doors they gathered in the library, desperate to solve this riddle.

Dean shakes himself from his memories as Sam returns with Cas’ requested paper and a pen. Cas is scribbling away in Enochian with Sam looking over his shoulder and moving his lips as though he can read it, while Dean sits here feeling like a useless piece of shit. He tries to think back to the mission but he can’t remember anything that witch had said.

What he does remember is her throwing something that looked like dirt into a bowl full of witchy crap, which unleashed a dark smoke into the air. She blew it on both of them before incanting something. He remembers coughing and waving the smoke out of his face while Cas had crumpled to the ground.

He comes back to his original thought that he had had the night before. “Uh, guys? Maybe it was just Cas who was blasted with something. I don’t think it was me.”

For the first time that day Cas levels Dean with his gaze and Dean squirms under the intensity of his deep blue eyes. “Her spell was a sleep curse intended for us both, but it didn’t work on you because of the ring. Killing her broke the spell, however, and I awoke.”

“Well what if there was more to the spell than that? Otherwise, I am drawing a blank unless you’ve got something there,” Dean quips, noticing Cas is done writing.

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose and Cas looks at his notes in defeat. “From the looks of it, it’s just as Cas said, Dean. She was trying to incapacitate you both so she could flee. Obviously she wasn’t banking on you being unaffected.”

Dean works his jaw back and forth and then rises. If her curse was broken and Cas was fine then what the hell happened? He can’t sit here anymore twiddling his thumbs and going in circles. “I’m gonna go wash the car,” he announces. He leaves the ring on the table for Cas to keep, or toss, or do whatever with. What does it matter if they figure out her scheme anyway? It’s over now.

He can feel two pairs of eyes on his back as he retreats to his safe space so that he can think. Neither of them try to stop him.

__________________

 

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Sam says, turning to him once Dean is gone.  

Cas frowns, still watching the archway that Dean had disappeared through. “What for? You didn’t do anything, Sam.”

“You had tried to come to me to share your concern that he hadn’t taken the ring off. I should’ve picked up that something was wrong just by that alone. If I had listened to you then this all could’ve been avoided and gotten dealt with sooner.”

The words hurt. The whole situation hurts. That Sam thinks that what he and Dean shared was something to be dealt with. And now Dean is avoiding him. Cas has nothing to say so he smiles stiffly and hopes it is enough to convince Sam that he will be just fine. It seems to work because Sam returns his own sad smile and leaves the room.

Cas lets his eyes settle on the ring and he slowly reaches out to pick it up. He isn’t convinced that the witch didn’t have anything to do with what has been going on. She had used a sleeping curse on them, broken in only two ways: by killing the witch who cast it or by true love’s kiss.

He and Dean were both touched by the smoke. Cas had succumbed to the spell whereas Dean had not. Maybe Dean is correct and her curse was a double-edged sword, yet nothing in her incantation suggested that there was anything more than putting her assailants into eternal slumber. The only other common denominator is the ring. 

Cas thinks back even further. The day he had given Dean the ring, and leading up to the hunt, Dean had been well within the confines of normal Dean behavior. When they got back is when Cas noticed that Dean seemed to begin a sort of courtship flirting with physical displays of affection. Likewise, Cas found himself reciprocating. But he doesn’t think he was under any spell. He feels exactly the same as before.

He recalls Dean’s embarrassment over the ring in the first place and how odd it was when Dean wouldn’t remove it later, after their case. Cas squints at the ring that he’s holding between his thumb and forefinger. It is only meant to serve the purpose of protecting the bearer. There is no reason it would have become unnaturally stuck, nor is there explanation for how Dean was suddenly able to get it off.

Cas flips over to a clean sheet of paper and carefully copies the sigils from the ring and onto the paper. He must have made a mistake. Of course it would be his fault because he always messes something up, but he knows he triple-checked that he made each mark correctly on the ring. As he finishes drawing the final symbol, Sam comes back.

“Still at it?” he asks, sitting down with a steamy mug and pulling his pile of papers toward himself. “I guess the first thing we have to ask ourselves is what would even be her purpose?” 

“Sam? Do you still have your note with the sigils?” Cas says, ignoring Sam’s questions. He feels like he’s close to understanding something but he’s not quite there. Cas mainly uses Enochian symbols and is less familiar with the ones he used for the ring, so aside from one of the protection symbols, he can only guess what the others represent. He should have looked them up first but he had trusted Sam. 

“Uh, you know, I might. I have notes everywhere, though.” Sam starts leafing through the stuff on the table but then leaves for his room to see if he left it on his desk when it doesn’t turn up. Cas is too distracted by this mystery that he doesn't notice the irony in Sam's complaining about keeping field notes earlier compared to his disorganization of his personal effects. 

While Sam looks for it, the dread coiling within Cas’ stomach grows tighter and tighter. He realizes, too late now, that the symbols most likely were not meant to be placed into a circle without a definitive beginning and end, the pattern becoming a symbol of unity in and of itself. 

There are a total of seven sigils, the number of divine perfection and completion. Even the order in which he chose to put the symbols may have altered things but he won’t be sure on that score until he has the original note. He internally berates himself for what Dean would call ‘rookie mistakes’.  

“Oh, geez, here it is,” Sam says, pulling out a sheet of yellow paper from a file he procured from his room as he walks back in.

“This can’t be right, Sam,” Cas says, laying it next to his own drawing. “There are only three symbols here that I used. I know I didn’t mess up that bad to have made the other four incorrect.”

“No, Cas, those are the sigils for the protection spell. It even says at the top of the paper what it is for,” Sam leans across the table and taps the small print with his forefinger.  

“But the paper you gave me didn’t have that writing at the top…” Cas’ mouth slams shut and his wide eyes meet Sam’s wide eyes across the table.

“Cas? I think you may be on to something. We need to find that other page and find out what the heck you put on the ring.” Sam starts going through his papers again, more slowly. The piece of paper had been small and could easily have gotten tossed or tucked away.

When Sam still hasn’t found it, he and Cas start looking through the books that were used in their research on the witch, checking to make sure it didn’t get used as a bookmark. Cas is beside himself with frustration when he spies the corner of a yellow page peeking out from under one of the bookcases.

“Sam? I found it,” he says excitedly. It isn’t like any of them to carelessly leave important papers on the ground so it must have fallen when Sam was putting things away. “Why did you write these symbols? What do they mean?”

“I didn’t write any of them. I found a note in a ledger that was coded to a box in storage. There was a stack of little pages, each with their own set of 7-9 symbols for various different wardings and spells. Only about half of them were labeled with what each set was intended for and this one happened to be unmarked. I guess I handed you the wrong one when I was distracted,” Sam says, his face crestfallen in apology.

“Well then we will just need to know find out what each symbol specifically stands for and maybe we can decode the ring’s purpose.” Cas is not sure how to comfort Sam for his mistake but there’s nothing they can do to change what has happened.

“Already on it,” Sam says, bringing over another ledger, this one thick and leather-bound. He places it on the table and sits next to Cas as they try to match the ring’s symbols to the ones in the book. It takes a while because there are innumerous markings, some with only slight variations between the next, making them difficult to distinguish.

They start to make headway when they get to the more romantically inclined symbols. “Okay, this one is ‘desire’,” Sam says. “And this one is ‘fidelity’. I’m sensing a theme already,” he adds dryly.

Cas swallows and nods without a word, a sinking feeling in his chest. He can see the next one is ‘sincerity’ before Sam says it out loud. And the final symbol, depicted by a single intricately woven line that connects without breaking, much like an infinity symbol but with more detail, is ‘Eros love’.

They already know the other three were the protective markings, shown on both of the old Men of Letter notes laid out before them. One is a banishment sigil against spells, the second is to prevent possession, and the third is invisibility against spirits. Symbols that one might want their loved one to have in order to keep them safe.

Cas’ ears fill with a static, the room fading away as he stares unseeing at the ledger. All he can see are the four words in his mind's eye playing on repeat: fidelity (commitment to one lover), sincerity (being truthful), desire (passion and physical lust), and Eros (romantic love). He wove them into a circle… with his own blood... placed it on the Vena Amoris finger… and eventually sealed it with a kiss. And Dean had been acting out within all four of those attributes.    
  
His heart is thumping so hard it hurts.  How is he supposed to explain himself to Dean? How will he react? This isn’t just some piece of paper that people sign and later dismiss. This is soul-binding and serious, not to mention in complete disregard of Dean’s free will.

“Uh, Cas?” Sam interrupts his train-wrecked thoughts. He is thumping a finger on the page with a contemplative expression, waiting for Cas to look at him. Cas takes a deep breath before lifting his eyes. “I think you married my brother.”

____________________

 

Dean took his sweet time on the car, giving attention to each part down to the tiniest detail, so it has been a few hours since he’s seen anyone. Afterward he stripped off his dirty, damp clothes, showered and then stood before his memory box hesitating over the silver band that used to belong to his mother. He hasn’t worn it in a long time but he has gotten used to the other ring and feels naked without something. He slips it over his finger. It doesn’t feel the same but at least it is something.

He walks through the bunker with still-wet hair and it appears everyone is gone. He expected to at least see Sam hanging around the library or in the kitchen looking for the next case. Dean figures he must be laying down or gone on a supply run. 

Dean sets a plate down on the kitchen island and pulls sliced ham and cheese from the fridge. He inspects the bread closely and when he is satisfied it isn’t a growing science experiment, he twirls the bag open and pulls out a couple slices, slapping them to his plate.  

He forgot the mayo so he returns to the fridge to grab it and hesitates over the mustard before he shrugs and grabs it, too. The fridge door slams shut and when he turns back around he almost drops the bottles.  

“Jesus, Cas, you scared the shit out of me.” Dean keeps his eyes glued to his waiting slices of bread, unceremoniously dropping the condiments onto the island next to his plate and ripping open a drawer to find a butter knife.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice sounds wrecked and it cracks a little but Dean still can’t look up. He spreads the mayo on carelessly before he spurts mustard on. Too much comes out of the bottle and his entire plate is a mess but he just can’t make himself care because now he’s lost his appetite and Cas is just standing there waiting for Dean to acknowledge him.

 _\--Breathe, just breathe.--_  

Dean stares at the white-and-yellow mess, takes another breath and then another. He looks up and he swallows down the lump in his throat. Cas is standing in the doorway wearing a pair of jeans with black socks and the old Nirvana shirt Dean had given him.

Cas takes the eye contact as permission to come in but he still maintains his distance, staying on the other side of the kitchen island. He’s wringing his hands a little, something Dean has never seen him do. 

Dean instantly wants to save him the embarrassment of apologizing. It isn’t like the guy had control when he kissed him. It was a fucking spell. “Look, whatever you’re gonna say, forget it. What happened, happened.” Dean takes another deep breath before barreling on, not wanting to admit what he’s about to say but saying it nonetheless. “It didn’t mean anything to you, I know. Can we just forget it and move on?” 

“I can’t just forget what I’m about to say. I need to tell you something.” Cas takes a step backward and clasps his hands tightly, folding into himself a little.

Shit, this can’t be good. “What? You already figured out what happened?”

“Sam and I seem to have a very good idea of what happened, yes,” Cas says, the air crackling with foreboding.

Dean knows that if his brother isn’t here on purpose then it must be extremely personal, but he has to ask anyway. “Well then where is he? Shouldn’t he be explainin’ things with that big brain of his?”

“He thought it best that I tell you privately. Maybe we should sit down?” Cas gestures toward the table before he sits and waits. He is being awfully formal which only heightens Dean’s wariness. 

Dean reluctantly comes around the island and takes a seat opposite of Cas, folding his arms across his chest. “Okay? Shoot.”

“Uh, okay,” Cas starts, looking over Dean’s shoulder and then down. “We believe that when the witch cast the spell, the ring absorbed it rather than destroy it. But you got hit with the spell twice as hard because of the ring so something, um, strange happened.”

Dean says, for what seems like the umpteenth time, “But I thought the point of the ring was to prevent anything from happening to me.”  

“And nothing did happen to you, not in the way she intended. You were not put into eternal sleep. The ring acted as a buffer, taking the curse unto itself to prevent it from harming you. The, uh, ring connected us so you received double the power, half directly and half by proxy.”  
  
“Connected us… because it is made with your blood?” Weirder things have happened but witchcraft is always a doozy. Say certain words in a certain order and your grandmother gets turned into a newt. So have your angel-friend make you a ring with their freaking blood and get whammied with double the witch mojo? Totally within the realm of normal for Dean Winchester.  

Cas rubs his palms over his thighs like they’re sweaty and then clears his throat. “I, uh, may have received incorrect information on what symbols to use on the ring.” He leans back to reach into his pocket and pulls out two slips of yellowed paper and the ring. Cas sets them on the table, sliding the three things toward Dean, the honey-and-whiskey colored band flashing as it passed under the light and across the table.

“I was meant to use these ones but I mistakenly used these ones,” Cas says, distinguishing between the papers. “Because of this you were only very minimally protected and it created a unique circumstance.”

“Wait, so what exactly is the difference then? Other than the scribbles lookin’ different?”

Cas’ face becomes oddly ashen at the innocent enough question but he continues to explain. “Both of these sets share three of the same sigils. But the set I was supposed to use had four extra safeguards. Had you had all seven of the proper sigils you would have been fully protected, without repercussion.” 

“Okay,” Dean says slowly, “then what the hell was used instead?”

“This set…” Cas tries to gather up some courage, or something, but he’s taking forever and Dean just wants him to spit it out already. “This set,” Cas repeats, pointing at the other page, “is for soul-binding and uses symbols that represent fidelity, sincerity, desire and, um, love,” Cas finishes on a whisper, eyes downcast. 

The silence in the room would be deafening except for the roar of Dean’s pulse. “So what are you saying?” Dean dares to ask and he repeats his question from the wedding last night but with a little more venom. “Did _you_ curse me?”  

Cas looks up with horrified and pained eyes but Dean’s sense of betrayal is dialed to a ten. Was everything that happened and what Dean had felt  _not real_ , like Sam had said? Angels had forced his parents together, and they tried to fuck with the brothers to get them to do things against their will in the past. It isn’t so hard to believe someone else could be trying to mess with Dean… but Cas? He just can’t believe Cas would.

“Dean, the ring is not cursed,” Cas says quickly, to Dean’s initial confusion and then ultimate relief. “The ring only caused you to react in unusual ways because it had to overcompensate her sleep spell. It seemed to do that by awakening the things you keep buried, specifically the attributes that the other four symbols represent. You were still you, just... more enlightened. It allowed you to ‘step outside of your comfort zone’ as you might say.”  
  
"So you? You weren't affected by anything?"  
  
This question seems to make Cas the most uncomfortable out of the entire conversation and his cheeks tinge pink. "Uh, I was not affected, no. I acted on my own, in everything," he confesses and it makes Dean's heart race even more.  
  
_\--Cas was himself the whole time. Cas chose to kiss me.--_  

But there is still something nagging Dean, like he isn’t getting the full story. It couldn’t all be the witch. “But then why did I feel this weird sensation when you first put the ring on me? We hadn’t even met her yet.” 

Cas rubs a hand down his face and refuses to meet Dean’s eyes. The more he talks, the more devastated he appears. “The sensations you felt had nothing to do with her or her spell. This part is a completely different issue and you have to believe me, Dean, I didn’t know." Cas takes a few seconds to brace himself and says, "What you felt was the acceptance part of the soul-binding ritual, by taking the ring.”

“The hell does that even mean, Cas? My soul is bonded? To what?” Cas looks up at him, eyes wide but sad, probably wanting to gauge how Dean reacts to the next two words.  
  
“To me.”  
  
“Wh-what?” It is starting to click in Dean’s head, a picture coming together in his mind’s eye. The electric sorta shock that traveled from his finger up to his heart, through the supposedly nonexistent Vena Amoris. Later they get hit with a sleep curse and killing her only cures part of it and saves Cas, the rest trapped in the ring. Trapped there by a sigil and Cas’ blood, in an attempt to keep him from succumbing by making him 'more awake' to his feelings. And all because Cas used different symbols than he intended.

“You call it ‘marriage’ here on earth, but it’s more than that,” Cas adds softly but he does not elaborate.

Dean can hear the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of his heart, feeling it pounding hard in his chest cavity and he squeezes his folded arms tighter to try and stop the sensation, to no avail.   
  
_\--What. is. happening? I have to be in the Twilight Zone.--_  
  
Dean thought being bound together was internal, just a-- a connection, like when you meet someone and you get along and can’t imagine life without them. He thought it was similar to what they already had. But to define it as a sort of marriage changes everything.

Marriage is a partnership, it is inward and outward, it is commitment, it is sharing a mortgage and a bed, it involves physical consummation. The idea of having this with Cas both thrills and terrifies Dean. He can't imagine anyone else for him, not ever. But...  
  
“Okay, okay," he tells himself and then to Cas, "you’re gonna have to back the truck up and explain better than to just ominously saying there’s more to it. What the hell is going on?”

“Dean, I- it’s- It’s called something else in heaven.” Cas’ eyes become glossy and he looks almost hopeful, and angelic. But not the bad-ass warrior angelic. More a sweet angelic, even reverent. His deep voice, so low, rumbling out two syllables that make Dean go weak in the knees and make him want to black out from the gravity of the single word. “Soulmates.”  
  
This is too heavy to even comprehend.  
  
“Oh,” is all Dean can say, his mind working furiously to try to make sense of all of this.  
  
As far as Dean understands, soulmates are the only beings that share a heaven. Breaking such a pact would undoubtedly have dire consequences or be next to impossible to accomplish. And Cas saying that ‘ _this is more'_ than the human concept of marriage is a huge understatement. 

And oddly-but-not-so-oddly Dean finds he is disappointed that it was for nothing, as they apparently did not complete any ritual. Cas said that it was initiated when Dean put the ring on but the bond was broken before they knew what was even happening to finish it. They never had a chance.  And Dean is hyper-aware that he really, really wishes he had that chance.

“Wh-what broke the connection? The ring came off. Does that mean the binding is, what, divorced?” Dean tries to ask as calmly as possible though his heart has risen to a kind of panic he’s never felt before.

But Cas is shaking his head slowly. “The kiss broke her curse completely, which loosened the physical hold of the ring. Sam and I believe the ring was trying to protect you so it wouldn’t let you take it off. It was always meant to be taken on and off at will. Wearing it or not wearing it changes nothing for its intended purpose once the ritual is complete.”

“So I was, what? Sleeping Beauty? Snow White?” Dean knows how their curses were broken. It is absolutely sappy as hell and stuff of fairy tales but maybe, just maybe, it is also a real thing. 

Cas tilts his head as he thinks about the references, mentally sifting through the untold number of files Metatron downloaded in him, before he confirms that those stories are similar in the ways that matter, with curses and kisses and --gulp-- true love.

“But the kiss did more than that. It also, uh, was the final step of the soul-binding ritual. That is why you felt the sensation twice.” Cas puts his hands out in a plea and presses on quickly. “I had no idea, Dean. I would not have...” Cas flounders for the right words. “I would not have kissed you if I knew but had I not, you’d still be…” Dean nods, knowing what Cas is trying to say. It was a catch-22.

Dean looks between the two pages on the table before him, the corners curling from age and use. What is he supposed to say to all of this? How does he begin to process this? Other than Dean being emotionally amped up by the ring, neither of them was actually cursed. And Cas just said the ritual did complete.  
  
_\--So wait... that means… he and Cas are soul-married? Soulmates?--_

Cas’ fingers come into his line of sight to pick up the ring, which is still sitting in the center of the table, the ring Dean has been avoiding looking at but is now riveted on.  

"So let me get this straight. You used the wrong symbols so instead of, what, dissolving her curse it had to try to fight it and kept me from removing the ring? And then her spell was broken by the same kiss that sealed this bond thing, right?” 

Cas clears his throat and it draws Dean’s eyes up to his face but he doesn't answer him, mistaking him for being upset and looking for an out. “Dean, the bond is permanent as far as Sam and I can tell. But- but we can continue to look for a way to free you from it. I never intended...” Cas pauses and lets the statement hang, unfinished.  

Cas palms the ring. Dean watches him rise, watches him push the ring into his jean pocket. Watches the love of his life walk toward the kitchen doorway stiffly, looking for all the world as shattered as Dean feels.

“Cas, wait.” Dean knows this is the moment, the one he was waiting for and stopped for back in the motel on the night they played pool. This was the moment he wanted to take to do this right. Even though he was wound-up then, he wasn't making up anything new or making up anything he didn't already want.  

And he’s going to do it while Cas shifts his weight between two black socks, wearing a grungy Nirvana shirt from the 90’s, while there’s a smudge of mayo on Dean’s hand and his hair looks like it was electrocuted from his shower earlier, right in the middle of the bunker kitchen.

He walks over and stands a couple of feet away, searching Cas’ eyes to give him the courage to do this and say things he'd never normally say. “Do you _want_ to find a way to break this?”

“Do you?” Cas asks furrowing his brow in confusion, but holding his gaze.

“No, I don’t think I do.” Dean takes his little knife out of his pocket and pulls his mom’s ring off. He has never been more grateful for a spur-of-the-moment decision than in putting it on. 

“Dean?” Cas asks uncertainly, watching as Dean pricks his own finger and lets a drop of blood spill on the silver ring, filling up the crevice that runs down the middle. Dean has bled on the ring more times than he can count but this is symbolic and he wants Cas to see.

“Give me your hand,” Dean says, stepping closer, holding his hand out palm up. Cas places his hand down gently, palm-to-palm. Dean can feel Cas’ hand trembling and he squeezes it firmly in reassurance.

“You have seen me at my darkest and never left, even when everyone else would’ve, and you’ve saved me, in more ways than just hell and death. It’s not even just the big picture shit we’ve been through.  
  
“Seeing you at the bunker, like this, in my ugly old clothes, or being a sore loser over a card game, when you practically orgasm over a new food you’re trying, and when you're being a badass demon-killer one minute before tenderly saving a damn rosebush the next,” Dean says, watching Cas’ incredulous expression soften into curious confusion. "These are the little things that add up and make you, you. And I lo- yeah." Dean ducks his head and clears his throat, wetting his lips before he continues. "It’s you and it always will be, for me. Will you be soul-bound, or whatever, to me?”

“Are you asking me to marry you, Dean?” Cas asks in disbelief, squinting hard into Dean’s eyes as if to make sure he’s in his sound mind, looking for all the world the same as he did when he tilted his head in the barn years ago, looked into Dean's soul and realized Dean thought he didn't deserve to be saved.

“Technically, kinda already are, aren’t we?" Dean chuckles, dispelling some of his nerves. "Maybe this didn’t happen the way it should have but it did. So what I’m telling you is that despite that, I choose this. You. I want you to choose me, too.” For a brief moment Dean worries that Cas will pull away or call him crazy, that maybe he told Dean everything about the ring because he was intent on finding a cure. His heart is racing so fast but nothing could soothe it quicker than Cas’ next words.  

“Dean, I chose you a long time ago,” Cas says with such conviction that Dean can feel his eyes stinging. Cas takes another step closer so their hands are practically smashed between their chests. It’s all the permission Dean needs.

He slips his ring on Cas’ finger and feels him shudder as he looks down at it. Before Dean can tilt his chin up, Cas fumbles in his pocket and pulls Dean’s ring back out.

“I would never force you to do anything against your will so when I made these discoveries about what happened I was terrified, hoping at most that you wouldn’t be angry. But then to even dream you’d want to keep this…” Cas gestures between them with the ring pinched in his fingers.  
  
“I have learned many things in my existence but you have inspired me and taught me the most valuable lessons, the ones that matter. You taught me about free will, about family and about love. You are the only person who has turned my head and I want you to be the only. Will you be soul-bound, or whatever, to me?” Cas repeats Dean’s question back to him, with a sly smile, tears in his eyes.  
  
Dean has only ever seen Cas teary-eyed but he’s never seen him actually cry. When they spill over and down his cheek Dean can’t stop himself from wiping the tears away with his free hand, his left trapped in Cas’ grip.   

“I already am,” Dean says fondly, his voice low and husky. He lets Cas slip the ring back on, relishing in the familiar weight and heat of it returning to his finger. There's no jolt this time, the ritual already having been done, but his heart skips a few beats anyway. He takes Cas' face gently as Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s waist, pulling him closer until their hips are flush.  
  
“You and me, forever?” Dean whispers, capturing Cas’ bottom lip between his own, his hands roaming down Cas’ back, thumbs hooking his belt loops. He can do this now and for always. Let the sons-of-bitches try to use them against each other. They'll always return to each other. They'll share a heaven. 

Cas turns them around, without letting go, so Dean's back is facing the doorway. He slowly walks, guiding Dean backward toward the living quarters, their mouths becoming more desperate and from a kiss he draws his response, a promise. "Yes, forever, Dean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I ended it right before the honeymoon, darn it. I love the idea of the men doing their own private vows like this. I wove a lot of symbolism into the story, got a little meta in places, and yeah the ending was fluff to the tenth power, but I apologize for nothing. I hope that you enjoyed my short(ish) story. 
> 
> Drop me a comment and/or Kudos and don't forget to check out my other fics if you enjoyed this one.
> 
> TheTwistedWillow


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